


Not so Valiant and not so Wise

by Fadesintothewest



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Slash, year of trees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/pseuds/Fadesintothewest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unlikely secret night of passion threatens the relationship between Fingon and Turgon. One possible scenario on why the relationship between Fingon and Turgon is estranged. Though I am not committed to the notion that they are, I am having fun breaking some rules. Do not expect nice elves here. They are not. The Noldor here are more akin to the decadent French aristocratic society before their downfall. </p><p>While this story focuses on Fingon, I do take the time to explore the lives and character of the female characters that we know so little about; thus I explore a bit of gender politics in Aman that is wrapped up in deeper cultural and political issues. Perhaps there is a bit of George RR Martin intrigue, sex, and the like!</p><p>These elves are fallible, complex, and oh so damn lovable! This story contains slash so if this is not your cup of tea you might not want to read. Leaving nasty reviews on how I have the elves acting so out of character doesn't move me to change this story.<br/>*I have gone through and edited the story, making the storyline tighter, and fixing some chapters that needed more organizing in the narrative. I love this story. It's my most favorite one I've written thus far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day at the Square

**Author's Note:**

> Many stories in the fandom treat the relationship between Fingon and Turgon as one strained either by the difference in age between the two, the influence of the sons of Fëanor on Fingon, or a combination of the two. While I can go either way with Fingon and Turgon’s relationship, in this piece, I am choosing to treat their relationship as one that has been/ will become estranged. So it follows that I see elves, especially the Noldor of the First Age as fallible, very fallible. In rereading the Silmarillion I am always struck by all the nuggets Tolkien left for us to explore. Laws and Customs Among the Eldar is certainly the guidepost by which many choose to hang their hats on in regard to many of the tropes we find in fanfiction, but I am not one of them. In fact, in my mind—and in agreement with many others out in our fandom—I choose to see the Laws and Customs as records that have come down through the line of Men, retelling what they have heard, read, about these aspects of Elven life a sort of palimpsest.
> 
>  
> 
> Findekáno- Fingon
> 
> Findaráto-Finrod
> 
> Turukáno-Turgon
> 
> Nolofinwë-Fingolfin
> 
> ~*~*~*~

 

1466 Year of the Trees

 

Findaráto and Findekáno were walking the Great Square joining the throng of elves of Tirion that were walking the paths of the Great Square.  It was a bright lovely day, like most days in the Blessed Lands. Galathilion the White Tree, flanked by the Mindon, the great tower of Ingwë, stood bright and tall. The cousins made quite the pair: one golden haired, the other raven, both tall, clearly sons of the House of Finwë. They circled the square deep in conversation, ignoring the giggles and whispers of groups of maidens that passed them as they made their way in the opposite direction.

 

Indeed it was a favored pastime of the mostly Noldor populace of Tirion to flock to the Great Square on certain High Days, dressed in elegant yet casually charming wear and walk around the Great Square. Families would take little ones and enjoy the puppeteers that would set up stages at different points of the Square. Food vendors appeared selling the latest favorites of the city folk. Others offered their wares to those interested in silken handkerchiefs, arts and crafts, jewelry fashionable amongst the young of Tirion, books, and more. Down the marbled steps that led away from the Great Square were a series of intimate amphitheaters and during the High Days the great crowds of Tirion could sit and watch musicians and playwrights perform their latest creations. It was a sight to behold, full of color, laughter, and life—an endeavor wholly Noldorin.

 

Young elves took the opportunity to meet with lovers and sneak a glance or share a smile with one’s object of affection, or in the case of Findaráto and Findekáno, sigh with the greatest sentiment of unrequited love for it was known that these two Lords were not to be bothered. Findaráto, for his part, was in love with Amarië, daughter of a noble Vanyarin family that dwelt in Tirion as part of Finwë’s courts, ambassadors of the High King Ingwë. But those elves a little bit older, not prone to the tender love struck ways of those nearing or just passed their majority walked the square with more confident airs, looking for different types of pastimes, more mischievous in nature. Thus Findekáno, for his part, was not interested in catching the attention of love struck maidens fresh from the lavish parties that celebrated their coming of age. He was interested in something of a different sort.

 

“Tell me cousin, when are you going to find that special someone?” Findaráto spoke, with not a hint of amusement, though the twinkle in his eyes said otherwise.

 

Findekáno groaned, “Not you too. My atto and amil have been badgering me of late. What is it with the lot of you!”

 

Findaráto turned to study Findekáno’s reaction. Findekáno was running his hand through his hair, his other hand extended into the air punctuating his words, and his bright blue eyes were wide with exasperation, as he went through his well-rehearsed list of why he had not married. Findaráto, sensing Findekáno wasn’t going to let up, came around him putting his hands on his shoulders forcing Findekáno to an abrupt stop, forcing Findekáno to focus on the golden haired elf’s face that was a mere inches from his.

 

“Cousin, it was in jest. I only meant to elicit a bit of colour from you, but what I have gotten is a litany!”

 

Findekáno’s face relaxed as he stared at his cousin, the twinkle in Findaráto’s eyes brighter. “No, what I sense here is Arafinwion deviousness,” Findekáno chuckled. “You seek to divert my attention from a deeper cause. I am no maiden Ingo,” referring to his cousin by a shortened version of his mother name, “you cannot offer me sweet words with one hand and with the other seek your true will.” Findekáno lifted his chin in a show of playful defiance. The cousins always tried to get a rise out of each other.

 

Findaráto dropped his hands from Findekáno’s shoulders, laughing merrily. “Astaldo, of course you see through my words,” likewise using Findekáno’s mother name. The two resumed walking the circuitous paths of the Great Square. “It was a transparent attempt on my part,” Findaráto continued, with a casual shrug.

 

“So then, what is it you really want to ask me Ingo?” Findekáno astutely guessed.

 

The color now rose to Findaráto’s cheeks, as he begged his cousin, “Findekáno you must say yes.” Findaráto’s face contorted to reveal the look of one who was bound to an ill-fated love, his lips pouting, eyes pleading with his cousin.

 

“Stop with your supplications cousin,” Findekáno slapped Findaráto on the arm. “You are a charmer, but your allure will go no further here,” Findekáno offered, a sly grin gracing his handsome face.

 

Findaráto offered him a cheeky grin in return. “Well then I’ll come to it, but you still cannot say no. I need you to come with me and Amarië to the shows tonight.”

 

“No!” Findekáno immediately exclaimed. “I will not be your minder. You are both adults. Findaráto you live on your own. Amarië stays with you there.”

 

Findaráto was now truly quite distraught. “I know,” he groaned, “but she has just returned from Taniquetil. You would not believe how challenging her parents make it for us to court. Their damn Vanyarin codes of behavior are ludicrous, ludicrous!” Findaráto’s eyes were now storming. “Amarië has never been to the late shows and I want to take her there so badly,” Findaráto implored his older cousin.

 

“And why not Turukáno? He and Elenwë would most certainly join you?” Findekáno replied. Finrod simply raised an elegant eyebrow in response, eliciting a snort from Findekáno. “Of course, I know,” Findekáno continued, “Elenwë has the same strictures upon her. I hear Turukáno wailing about it. I always tell him, like I tell you, serves you both right for mixing up with those stiff backs.”

 

Findaráto replied, “It is always an extreme with you Findekáno. They are not all so bad. They can be insufferable but also delightful. Just look at my Amarië.”

 

“Yes and we both know what happens when a Vanya marries a Noldo, they become one of us, not the other way around. Amarië may be confined by Vanyarin dictates but the moment you marry, their customs dictate she is now of your House,” Findekáno paused, Findaráto saying nothing to contradict his cousin. Findekáno continued, almost speaking to himself, “I will never understand why those damn stiff backs hold their women with such low regard. They take a gift and lock it up, the true nobility and strength left to wither, never to reckon the learning of skill, exploring the many paths of potential.”

 

“And we Noldor provide that for our women?” Findaráto replied, in agreement with Findekáno’s assessment of Vanyarin gender roles, but also aware of the limitations of his own people.

 

Findekáno held up his hand in acquiescence. “It is true, we are not yet learned enough to offer women their rightful place, but we are debating it. Just in council the other day your sister and mine presented a most eloquent and successful petition to be allowed into trades heretofore closed to women, with the support of _anammë_ [grandmother] no less.” The notion that Indis offered the women support was not lost on the two cousins.

 

Findaráto smiled, a look of pride overtaking his countenance, “Yes, I heard, though I also caught wind from Írissë that you were very helpful offering them insights as to what the naysayers would most certainly counter with.”

 

Findekáno blushed, “Írissë and Artanis have as much right to choose their own path as you or I do. If by my will, my heart, and my hand I can help them achieve that, then I will.” Findekáno could be a rogue, but he was raised by strong women that imparted important lessons.

 

Findaráto placed his arm around his cousin’s shoulders, embracing him as they walked. “Can you imagine Ingwë’s surprise to hear from his representatives that his own sister lent her name to the petition?”

 

Findekáno snorted, “Oh how I would love to see his face. Grandfather was just as surprised, but he voted in favor. Indeed most of our council agreed that it was time. Maitimo was there as representative of his father. I must say the scoundrel was most eloquent in his support of the bill.”

 

“Were you there Findekáno?” Findaráto asked.

 

“Yes, I was in the gallery. I was waiting for…” His voice dropped off.

 

“For the scoundrel?” Findaráto easily guessed, provoking laughter from Findekáno, though Findekáno held his gaze ahead of him, offering no further words.

 

“Fine,” Findaráto gave up, “we shall not speak of that. But please do say you will join us?”

 

Findekáno chuckled, “I was going to ask why you have not cajoled my brother, but I know he would dare not cross Elenwë’s parents and dream of taking her to such a scandalous place.”

 

“Exactly,” Findaráto replied. “Turukáno was mortified with the mere thought of taking his beloved and risking the ire of her parents.” Findaráto paused, looking for a way to say what he was thinking. “Findekáno?”

 

Findekáno’s interest was now piqued. He knew this tone of voice coming from Findaráto, always thoughtful but to the point.

 

“You must speak with Turukáno,” Finrod spoke more quietly. “He risks the ire of Elenwë. She is not like Amarië. I know they have just begun to see one another, but Turukáno is behaving rather oddly.”

 

Findekáno massaged his temple with his fingers, groaning, “Dearest brother, ready to fuck up another relationship before it has begun?” Findekáno looked expectantly at Findaráto. “And have you spoken to him about this. You two are close.”

 

Findaráto sighed, “I tried, but you know how stubborn he is. Once he has set his way to something he thinks is right he does not move, like a damn boulder.”

 

Findekáno laughed. He knew his brother’s stubbornness too well. Findekáno had given up offering Turukáno advice as he simply dismissed it. Turukáno did not believe Findekáno could offer any helpful advice, as he believed Findekáno was more the consummate bachelor, while beloved of maidens, never one to explore one flower closely. The brothers were close in other regards, hunting and riding together, helping their father build their home in the country, along with Írissë, but when it came to matters of the heart, the divide was great.  Only Írissë could bridge that space between the two.

 

Findaráto shrugged his shoulders, “I guess he will not hear it from either of us.” Findaráto now looked at Findekáno with a devilish grin, “Elenwë just wishes Turukáno would take her into a nice meadow and _take_ her. She’s rather bored and ready to offer up what she calls her ironic state of virginity.”

 

“And what, pray tell, does she mean by that?” Findekáno asked, his eyes sparkling with merriment.

 

“I shouldn’t be sharing this with you,” Findaráto winced, a bit embarrassed by his own need to gossip. “In fact Amarië would kill me as she was herself sworn to secrecy.”

 

“I’ll hear none of that,” Findekáno hotly demanded, “out with it!”

 

“Fine, fine,” Findaráto acquiesced a little too easily. “Elenwë just wants Turukáno to fuck her brains out.”

 

Findekáno had to stop walking as he doubled over with laughter, motioning for Findaráto to finish his sordid tale.

 

“But your brother is so damn consumed with her Vanyarin honor and this and that nonsense that he is clueless.”

 

“Oh dear,” Findekáno breathed, trying to regain self-control, “Turukáno!! He can be so blind some times, my big oaf of a brother.” Findekáno straightened, smoothing out the simple blue tunic he wore, very unlike those favored in Noldorin society. Findekáno was a bit of a trailblazer, finding that fitting in was boring. He favored boldness and vision instead. Yet ironically Findekáno was more committed to ideas and so consumed in working towards his visions that the thought of putting too much effort into appearance was secondary.  As a result he received much push back and advice on how to represent his station. This chaffed Findekáno, and he found that what he wore was like the first hammer strike in a rock, enough to get elves to rethink simple things before moving on to bigger issues. In that regard some said he was like Fëanáro, but Findekáno rebuked that comparison. If anything he was his father’s son, thinking about fomenting circumstances that would allow the Noldor to grow in ways that might not be perceived.

 

In fact, many of the maidens who wistfully cast their eyes his way saw a bit of a rebel who wore his hair with simple plaits, woven with striking threads of gold, but his hair otherwise loose. Other elves had discreetly started imitating his clothing, asking tailors to create the look so favored by one of their Noldorin princes. Fewer still were bold enough to mimic his hairstyle, all except the sons of Fëanáro. It started a bit in jest, but the simplicity of it won them over and they too found the easiness of it appealing. It wasn’t that Findekáno didn’t respect tradition, the meaning of the plaits of a house or deeds of valor. He just found that his generation had not done much to earn them. He felt they had become simply ornamental.*

 

“Very well then, I will go with you,” Findekáno declared, eliciting a hearty whistle of approval from Findaráto.

 

“Excellent, then I will meet you at the amphitheaters at dusk?” Findaráto replied, now dancing with excitement.

 

“I will be there,” Findekáno offered, a knowing smirk on his face.

 

With that, Findaráto departed, quickly making his way to his bachelor apartment.  Findekáno continued walking the Great Square, stopping to eat and talk to acquaintances here and there. He spied his mother perusing one of the vendor’s booths, speaking with her close friend and mother of Findaráto, Eärwen. 

 

“ _Amil, onónëamil_ ,” Findekáno greeted his mother and aunt.

 

“ _Yonya_ ,” Anairë replied, kissing her son’s brow, “are you on your way home?”

 

“No ama, I was just enjoying the day. I will stay with you if you like,” Findekáno added hopefully, feeling quite like the child needing his mother.

 

“Of course Astaldo!” Anairë answered, happy to spend time with her son.

 

“ _Onónëamil_ ,” Findekáno directed himself to Eärwen, “I just left your son off at the southern steps. I am sure if he would have known you were here he would have joined us.”

 

Eärwen laughed, “Indeed Findekáno. I spied the two of you going on about Eru knows what!”

 

Findekáno blushed, feeling more and more like a child being found out at something naughty. He buried his face in his mother’s arms, feeling comforted by the familiar smell of her.

 

Anairë patted his head, “Now look Eärwen. You’ve made my Findekáno cry.”

 

Findekáno offered a muffled laugh, unwilling to tear himself away from his mother.

 

“As much as I am enjoying you leaning on me, I’d like to move on but you are quite heavy _yonya_ ,” Anairë giggled as Findekáno was resting his weight on her.

 

Suddenly Anairë’s feet were off the ground, tightly held in Findekáno’s arms. “Then I will carry you ama.”

 

“Put me down!” Anairë shrieked, her beautiful Findekáno’s spirit a radiant star that inspired much brightness.

 

Findekáno gently set his mother on his feet and offered Eärwen if she too would like to be carried like the queens of exotic far off places. The three spent the remainder of the afternoon, exploring the Great Square, pausing to speak to the folk who came to them to offer traditional Noldorin greetings of reverence.

 

**)()()()()(**

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This idea is not original to me. I reread Oshun's Maitimo and Findekáno and this is where the notion of Fingon wearing his hair in that way as a sign of rebellion must have come from so I want to acknowledge the source her. 
> 
> Onónëamil- sister mother/aunt  
> Yonya-my son


	2. Harlots and Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well now, what has he gone and done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Findekáno/ Káno - Fingon  
> Findaráto/Ingoldo/Ingo-Finrod  
> Turukáno-Turgon  
> Nolofinwë-Fingolfin  
> Parts of this chapter are taken directly from The Decameron, Novel 7, by Giovanni Boccaccio and were inspired by the debauched shows of 18th century London or the Baroque 17th century Rome. Cross-dressing was a common tool used to break with societal mores of the time. Some of it was empowering. Other forms were not. It is in this spirit that I introduce the character of the Harlot. For me, the Noldor are representative of those heteronormative societies that announce strict sexual codes but much more boils beneath the surface. Personally this a sort of walk down memory lane for me as I was introduced to burlesque sex positive shows in radical queer women of color spaces many moons ago. I was but an impressionable young one, but to see women of color owning their sexuality so powerfully, changed me irrevocably.

**Chapter 2: Harlots and Passion**

 

Findekáno waited by the southern stairs of the Great Square that meandered down to the open courtyards that offered spaces for gathering amidst the grand white buildings that spilled in opulence down the heights of Túna. He spotted four golden heads heading in his direction.

 

“What is going on here?” Findekáno muttered as he spotted Findaráto, Amarië, another elf and Elenwë. Turukáno, however was not in sight. As the group approached Findekáno, he could see that his cousin was mortified. Clearly something was amiss. Findekáno recognized the other elf as Amarië’s father. “Dearest cousin have you been discovered?” Findekáno smiled, whispering to himself.

 

Findekáno closed the distance between himself and the group, offering a greeting to the group, “ _Aiya_ , Hail,” Findekáno offered bowing his head to the group.

 

“ _Vandë omentaina_ , well met Nolofinwion” the elder elf named Cemendur offered, the tone of his voice tinged with condescension.

 

“Greetings cousin,” Findaráto offered, his face betraying no emotion.

 

Amarië and Elenwë silently acknowledged Findekáno, offering a graceful bend of the head. There was a slight blush in Amarië’s cheeks as she looked to Findekáno with pleading eyes.

 

“Findaráto tells me you will be escorting my daughter this evening?” Cemendur continued, the seriousness of his inquiry palpable on his stern face.

 

“I am my lord. I hope this is met with your approval?” Findekáno smoothly replied not breaking eye contact with the elf that stood a bit shorter than him.

 

Cemendur paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I wish it were your brother here tonight but my niece Elenwë tells me that he has business to attend to on this the High Day. Now tell me what sort of man does business on the High Day?” Cemendur’s sour expression betrayed his displeasure.

 

Findekáno replied, “Your niece is correct, my brother is attending to business, but of the family nature. He is helping father prepare our country home for our arrival a few days from now.” Before Cemendur could reply that Nolofinwë was in the city, Findekáno added, “ _Atarinya_ , my father, was not able to leave the city as he had to attend to court business and Turukáno volunteered to serve in his stead. No better way to spend the High Day than for the business of family,” Findekáno added, offering the elder elf a warm smile.

 

“No indeed. There is no offence in that,” Cemendur replied, seemingly pleased with Findekáno’s response.

 

Findaráto’s face was unreadable, though Findekáno could sense that he was seething beneath. The heavy-handed piety of Amarië’s father was a bit much; though Findekáno could also see that underneath the veneer of Vanyarin observance was a father’s concern for his daughter. Findekáno could not criticize him for that. The grandson’s of Finwë were nothing if not notorious. Yes, Findaráto was not held in the same light as his other cousins, but nevertheless he was not blameless for some of the accusations laid at his feet. _Double standards much?_ Findekáno imagined what Irissë would say if she were present. He smiled casually observing the group, wondering where his beloved sister was, surely she had been told about the shows.

 

“Respectfully my lord,” Findekáno continued, “Do we have your approval to take in the offerings of Tirion under the light of Silpion?”

 

Cemendur laughed, knowing the stubbornness of Findekáno quite well from his time at Court, “Nolofinwion, do not disappoint me.”

 

“Never my lord,” Findekáno answered, offering Cemendur a bow.

 

“Very well then, I leave my treasures in your hands,” Cemendur replied, offering Amarië and Elenwë to Findekáno who gracefully accepted the outstretched hands of each.

 

)()()()()(

 

 

The now light-hearted group wound their way down the steps, passing through a narrow street. Findekáno recognized the way, offering Findaráto a wicked smile. “My, my Ingoldo, not only will dearest Amarië experience the Shows for the first time,” he purred winking at Amarië, “you take us to the lower levels?”

 

Amarië laughed lightly, “Findekáno I am not some tender hearted child. I demanded that Ingo take me to the Shows and not bother with the more restrained varieties. If one is to see, one might as well see what the real bother is about.“

 

Findaráto turned and kissed Amarië on the cheek, his cheeks rosy with amusement and anticipation.

 

“And what of you Elenwë? I was surprised you should accompany us this evening?” Findekáno asked offering a reproaching glare at Findaráto.

 

Elenwë quickly defended Findaráto, “Uncle felt I should accompany Amarië as well.” She paused, staring more intently at Findekáno. “He felt you were singly unsuitable of the task.”

 

Findekáno raised his eyebrow in response, a knowing smirk gracing his handsome face.

 

Elenwë continued, “But a male chaperone was required nevertheless and so I volunteered myself to partner in your task.” She scrunched her nose, adding, “I do not see why I cannot also enjoy myself on a night out seeing that your brother has chosen the company of the sailing crew. They compete on the morrow.” Of course Elenwë knew Findekáno had boldly lied to her uncle, but she knew her uncle would not inquire much. Nevertheless Turukáno’s choices of late were the cause of much displeasure for Elenwë.

 

Findaráto and Findekáno shared a knowing look. Turukáno certainly had knack for choosing unwisely. _Or_ , Findekáno thought to himself, _too easily swayed by his peer’s chauvinist attitudes on what was appropriate for men,_ though Turukáno was nothing of the sort _…_ most of the time.

 

Elenwë added, more resolutely, “Friends, let us enjoy ourselves this evening. I am as equally enthused as Amarië to experience my first Show!” Elenwë couldn’t contain her excitement, giggles spilling forth as she clutched her cousin who also jumped in anticipation.

 

)()()()()(

 

As the mingling lights faded into the silver light of Telperion and innocent minds and hearts made their way home to dream of valor and magical creatures, the music and plays that graced the amphitheaters would put their merry tunes and sonnets aside for more somber tones, bawdy tales, or simply outrageous feasts where only rogues dared tread.

 

And Findaráto led them to the most mischievous of all spots, where a merry troop of performers offered music and words for the crowd that was sitting on the hillside of the natural amphitheater. A performer was welcoming the crowd, offering colorful greetings.

 

“Kisses we offer thee and only by the three. We will sting you like the bee though only if you plea. So gather round and don’t make a sound.” The performer spotted Findaráto and Findekáno settling themselves, and offered the following: “Now Lords of renown, bound by no crown, walk on our ground. Let none say here that wicked tongues folly the impressionable young. But under such frocks are great big cocks, Oh me that my boat must dock!” The crowd whistled and jeered, laughing and clapping.

 

Findaráto offered loudly in reply, “My boat moored in your throat?”

 

Others offered equally colorful responses. The performer responded more quickly and more bitingly eliciting moans and groans of pleasure from the crowd. Wine and food were flowing freely offered by elves that silently and discretely made their ways to the groups settled on the lawn.

 

It was a merrily debauched atmosphere. Findekáno was watching Amarië and Elenwë as the performance got under way. Amarië was thoroughly enjoying herself, exchanging inappropriate words with Findaráto. As for Findaráto, he was the most carefree and relaxed that Findekáno had seen in a while. He was glad that he was able to help them have this night.

 

Elenwë on the other hand he could not discover. Not only did Findekáno not want to appear like the overprotective brother, he could not quite make out her face as she settled a little bit ahead of him. Soon Findekáno lost interest in those around him as he studied the crowd. He knew she would soon arrive and so he looked expectantly around him.

 

A maiden, or what appeared to be a maiden graced the stage, her costume indecorous, and the colors painted on her face scandalous. She, which was really a man dressed as a harlot, began the soliloquy, commanding the stage with her imposing presence: “ _In the territory of ….[ignorance] there was formerly a most severe law, which, without any distinction, condemned all such women to be burnt as were detected by their husbands in adultery. Whilst this law was in force, it chanced that a beautiful young lady, named Heldandil, was surprised by her husband with her gallant, a young gentleman of the same city, in her own chamber._ ’”* The crowd hissed with disapproval, some mockingly yelling, “off with her head!”

 

The performer continued, “ _Lumnaner, for that was the husband's name, was so provoked at this, that he could scarcely refrain from putting them both to death, and forbore it only out of regard to his own life; but yet he resolved that the law should effect what he durst not accomplish with his own hand — the death, namely, of his wife. Having, therefore, sufficient testimony to prove the fact, he had her summoned before the court. The lady, who was of an undaunted spirit, resolved to make her appearance, contrary to the advice of her friends, choosing rather to die by a resolute confession of the truth, than abscond and live basely in exile or, by denying the fact, show herself unworthy of the lover with whom she had this intrigue._ ”*

 

The performer paused to survey the crowd, eliciting whistles. The harlot asked the crowd, “What say ye all? Shall we condemn Heldandil to death?” With this more performers emerged to the stage. On one corner Heldandil also a man dressed as a maiden, was hungrily exploring a handsome looking young fellow, their exploits growing in response as the crowd cheered them on. In the other appeared Lumnaner, a man dressed as a fat, golden haired elf. As soon as he appeared the crowd booed as he proceeded to rip Heldandil from her lover.

 

“Shall we hear more of the tale?” The audience exploded with affirmation, the harlot continuing to narrate the story as the actors continued playing their parts. The tale continued: _“Being brought, then, before the lord-provost, attended by a great number of friends of both sexes, and encouraged all the way to deny it, she asked him, with a firm voice and steady countenance, what he had to say to her. The provost, seeing her beauty, her noble deportment, and greatness of spirit, began to pity her, fearing lest she should confess something which would force him, for the sake of his honour to condemn her to death. Being constrained, however, to interrogate her upon the charge preferred before him, he said to her, ‘Madam, here is Lumnaner, your husband, who affirms that he has taken you in adultery, and insists that I pronounce sentence of death upon you, according to the law in that case ; but this I can- not do, unless you yourself confess it; therefore take care what answers you make, and tell me if this accusation of his be true.’” The lady, without showing the least concern, replied, “’My lord, it is true, that Lumnaner is my husband, and that he found me in the arms of,_ ’”* the elf paused searching the crowd until she fixed on Findekáno.

 

The performer repeated her line, “The lady, without showing the least concern, replied, ‘My lord, it is true, that Lumnaner is my husband, and that he found me in the arms of, Findekáno, where I have been many a time, for the great love I bear him, nor will I ever deny it;’”* The gathered elves cheered loudly, Findekáno laughed, offering a bow of his head acknowledging his overblown reputation.

 

The performer licked her lips as she hungrily looked upon Findekáno, continuing with the tale of poor Heldanil. “ _’But you must know, at the same time, that laws ought to be alike for all, and made with the consent of those persons whom they concern. Now, in this law of yours, it is quite otherwise; for it is binding only on us poor women, who are much better able than men to satisfy many, and moreover none of us ever consented to, or were even consulted about the making of it. I call it, therefore, a most iniquitous law_.’”*

 

Again the roar of the crowd caused the performer to pause waiting for the rowdy noise to dissipate. Elenwë surprised Findekáno. She was yelling with abandon offering her own very colorful words. Findekáno was pleased. As Findaráto had shared with him, there was much more to Elenwë. Suddenly another female voice from the crowd caught his attention.

 

The voice yelled, “And we certainly can satisfy more than one!” Many maidens cheered in agreement adding more colorful commentary.

 

Findekáno’s jaw dropped. It was Irissë! Of course it would be Irissë. She was there with friends of hers that Findekáno did not know as well, but he caught her looking back at him a question in her eyes as she looked at Elenwë who was leaning against Amarië for support as she was overcome with laughter, but in doing so she had moved closely against Findekáno in a way that suggested intimacy between the two. He had not noticed as it was usual for crowds to come together, throwing damned modesty into the wind. He offered her a shrug before the performer resumed her story in Heldanil’s voice.

 

“ _’If you are disposed to take away my life for the breach of it, why of course you may; but, before you pass sentence, I entreat one little favour of you, that is, that you would ask my husband whether, at all times, and as often as he pleased, I have not yielded myself fully to his desires, without ever saying him nay.” Lumnaner, without waiting to be questioned by the provost, declared at once, that the lady had never failed to respond to his wishes in that respect. ‘Well, then, master provost,’ said the lady, ‘if he has always had from me as much as he wanted and wished, what, I ask, was I to do with what was left? Should I throw it to the dogs? Is it not much better to gratify with it a man who loves me more than himself, than to let it be lost or spoiled?_ ’”*

 

The performer paused as the crowd roared with laughter. “And what do you think poor Heldanil’s compatriots replied. Many a version was offered until the performer raised her hand requesting silence, offering Heldanil’s peers’ version:

 

“ _’All the principal people of the city were present to hear this process, and after laughing heartily at this humorous question, they cried out, as with one voice, ‘The lady says well; she is quite right!’ Before they broke up, the law, by the interposition of the lord-provost, was moderated so far as to apply only to such women as wronged their husbands for the sake of money. So Lumnaner departed from the court, covered with shame and confusion, whilst the lady, snatched as it were out of the fire, returned victorious to her own house._ ’”*. The harlot bowed, the elven crowd cheered, drinks were consumed, and the atmosphere grew merrier. The performers made their way off stage to take part of the merry-making amongst the crowd, though perform they never stopped for this was part of the Show, the intimate nature of it.

 

Findekáno spied Irissë making her way to them. In the meantime Findaráto asked Elenwë what Findekáno dare not. “Do you believe that women are thus confined?”

 

Elenwë snorted most unlady like, “Really Ingo? You know that while the likes of you,” she offered piercing glares and Findaráto and Findekáno, “are free to poke your manhood where you will, we must pretend to be virtuous.” She held her hand up, motioning for Findaráto to hold his tongue, “And tell me Ingo are you commanded to stay in the company of your parents most evenings to weave, paint or do whatever mind numbing craft has been thought up for you because it will make you a good wife?”

 

Ingo said nothing.

 

Amarië replied, indignation coloring her cheeks. “Of course you don’t Ingo nor you Findekáno.” She slapped Findekáno on his leg, provoking a “Hey what did I do?” “You Findekáno,” Amarië declared, “Think us Vanyarin women are all the same, content to sit around while our father’s make choices for us, but it is not an easy choice. Should we rebuke those who loves us or make the best of our circumstances?”

 

Findekáno was about to speak when he was interrupted by Irissë. “Now what are you all going on about. I must know at once.” Irissë settled herself snugly against Findekáno, draping herself across his lap, almost like a warning to him and Elenwë.

 

“Cousin,” Findaráto cried out, leaning over to lay a kiss on Irissë’s cheek. Elenwë also happily greeted Irissë, clumsily reaching over to hug her, but as she bent over to hug Irissë, her elbow that was propping Elenwë up buckled and she flew forward into Irissë and Findekáno. She grabbed the first thing she could, ending up taking hold of Findekáno high on his inner thigh.

 

“Oh,” Elenwë gasped, her face red with embarrassment.

 

Findekáno smoothly replied, “I did not take you to be so bold Elenwë !”

 

“Scoundrel!” She shrieked with laughter as she rocked back onto her bottom.

Amarië and Findaráto laughed as well, enjoying the banter that now was exchanged between the foursome. Irissë was not liking any of it, knowing that Findaráto and especially Amarië wished Turukáno was more like Findekáno so that they could have a fun couple to properly spend their evenings out with. But Elenwë, though she knew her to be a bold and lively spirit, betrayed a shadow of something when her hand landed on Findekáno. Irissë swore she glimpsed lust.

 

Irissë blurted out, “Where’s Turukáno?”

 

Elenwë ’s bright face clouded and Findekáno’s smile disappeared. But Amarië’s face grew stern as if she was angry with Turukáno. Irissë knew Amarië well enough so she slid next to her and waited for the golden haired maiden to reveal what troubled her. As Irissë chatted with Amarië, one of the performers, the harlot made their way to the group. Irissë knew this was the opportunity to spirit Amarië away.

 

“We will be back,” Irissë announced, nobody halting their departure as the need to relieve one’s self was much needed with the amount of wine that flowed.

 

The Harlot approached Findaráto, gently picking up one of his braids. “So lovely Noldorin Gold,” and turning her eyes to Findekáno, saucily added, “so lovely Noldorin Gold bound in Raven black. What I would give to watch the sport that causes such locks to come undone and bound in one another.”

 

Findekáno leaned back on his hands, a confident grin on his face. “My cousin is beautiful is he not?”

 

“Oh yes,” the Harlot hissed, “But I like my swords darker.” Her eyes fell boldly on Findekáno’s crotch.

 

Findaráto laughed, “Gold and Raven, what about Fire and Night?”

 

The Harlot turned her darkly painted eyes to Findaráto. “Mmmm delectable yes, but so mundane—for me—no forgiveness needed my lord,” the Harlot playfully addressed Findekáno.

 

“None offered,” Findekáno replied his voice husky.

 

The Harlot turned her attention to Elenwë, “And what about you sweet thing, what wets you down there?”

 

Elenwë blushed, but she was not going to be cowed. “A thick sword my lady, long and mighty. Wish it would pierce me and leave not a trace of me.”

 

Findaráto and Findekáno’s mouths opened but could say nothing.

 

The Harlot gently caressed Elenwë ’s face. “My dear you have more to offer in between those pretty long legs than these two have,” the Harlot whispered grabbing Findaráto and Findekáno’s members.

 

“Be kind to your women my lords,” the Harlot continued her hands firmly grasping the previously flaccid flesh, “And you, dearest raven haired Prince, fulfill your lady’s needs.”

 

“But,” Findekáno whispered, caught in the erotic yet terribly inappropriate moment.

 

With that the Harlot released them and walked away.

 

Elenwë sputtered, “Of course, she did not know that I am not here with you. Well I am here, with you, but not with you…”

 

“No words Elenwë,” Findekáno interrupted, wanting to save them both from embarrassment.

 

Meanwhile Amarië and Irissë were talking in quiet whispers though even if their voices were louder they would not have been heard, so enthralled were the others with the Harlot.

 

“I understand why both Elenwë and Findekáno are here but I do not have to like it,” Irissë muttered.

 

Amarië, now exasperated, replied, “Do you have such little faith in your brother that he would so violate his own brother’s trust?”

 

Irissë snorted, “Amarië don’t pretend to be so damn ignorant. You well know that the quickest thing to come between brothers is a lady.

 

“Well if you must know,” Amarië sniffed, “it would rather be what your other brother deserves.”

 

“What? How?” Irissë cried out indignantly, her voice no longer a whisper.

 

“Keep your voice down,” Amarië hissed. “At this moment he is with that damn sailing crew and accompanying them are other maidens.”

 

Irissë replied, “But that is not out of the ordinary. That group always has maidens with them. It does not mean Turukáno is so inclined.”

 

“Oh really,” Amarië replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm, “then tell me why Almáriel is with them.”

 

The blood drained from Irissë’s face. “Say naught!” she pleaded.

 

“Irissë you must see your brothers in their true light. They are undeniably amongst the best of men, along with my Ingo, but men of the Noldor they remain. You, I know, know this too well.

 

Irissë was now pouting, knowing Amarië was correct.

 

She continued, “Irissë you must not blind yourself to Turukáno’s faults, for if you do you cannot help him keep Elenwë.

 

“He is in danger of losing her?” Irissë asked more distraught.

 

“Yes and he is a bloody fool for it. He treats Elenwë like a doll, unwilling to spoil her, but he goes off with Almáriel because in her he can consume his lust. He must be able to see Elenwë as that which can give him _all_ he desires. Otherwise they are doomed.”

 

“I see,” Irissë replied, more quietly.

 

“And if you ask me I hope Elenwë has a little fun with Findekáno. She deserves it. No, wait, I know, Findekáno could never live with himself, but I so wish it for her. She needs that push, that one night to give her the confidence she needs to set that Turukáno straight. Oh she does love your brother.” Amarië turned to look at Findaráto who was motioning her and Irissë to return. “They call for us. Now smile Irissë or Findekáno will pester you about what troubles you.

 

Irissë nodded, pinching her cheeks forcing blood to color them. The duo made their way back to the group. A group of musicians began strumming their instruments adding to the fey mood of the evening. Wine poured freely and the performers took turns with the musicians, delving deeper into their repertoire of debauchery.

 

Elenwë felt light headed, the sweet wine was strong. The sight of a nude maiden displayed on stage deeply aroused her even though the skit was also insanely comical. She heard Findekáno laugh out loud beside her. His voice was very deep and rich, very melodic she thought to herself. She turned to spy on him, Turukáno’s brother, his full lips, bright eyes, his face always beaming with amusement. She sighed inwardly, why could Turukáno not be as free. She relished those moments when Turukáno allowed her to see that side of him. Looking back to the stage, she gasped at what was on display. Strangely dressed elves were now probing the maiden and another elf with all sorts of devices, food included, the audience feasting on the sight of the two brought to climax. Elenwë imagined this would silence the crowd, but it riled them up into a different type of attitude, more base and primal. She felt a little scared at this moment.

 

Findekáno who had been utterly enjoying the display but every watchful of Elenwë, crept closer to her. “My lady,” he asked tenderly, “do not fear. No one here will ask of you what you do not want to give. Many come who simply like to watch. Others, they come looking to share.”

 

“Oh,” she muttered, a bit embarrassed by her innocence. She looked down at the ground. A warm breeze carried Findekáno’s hair into her face tickling her cheeks. She laughed, “Your hair is tickling me.” Findekáno made to move back but Elenwë impulsively grabbed him, motioning for him to stay. Her hand on his thigh made him tense. He felt the warmth emanating from her hand, invading him. “Findekáno?” she asked shyly, “Did you know that you were my first love?”

 

Findekáno stiffened, he opened his mouth, but did not know what to say. Finally he muttered, “Elenwë, I know not, I did not know…”

 

Elenwë cut him off, explaining, “I had just reached my majority. I remember seeing you riding your horses back from hunting. Artanis and Irissë were with you. You and Ingoldo’s brothers were returning and I was visiting Amarië. You were a vision on your horse and at that moment I envied Artanis and Irissë for the freedom they had and to be so close to you. It was childish but at that moment I believed you were my reason for breathing.”

 

Findekáno, wildly trying to direct the conversation in a direction he hoped was more suitable asked, “And what of my brother?”

 

Elenwë smiled, looking down at the ground shyly, unconsciously plucking the grass in a nervous gesture.

 

And then it happened, she looked up at him and he saw her beauty, her innocence, but more than anything he saw her boldness, her desire to be given the opportunity to be more than what society held her to.

 

Elenwë worked up the courage to continue her confession. “Amarië is the one that dissuaded me from my infatuation with you, turning me to Turukáno. I hadn’t noticed him, but when I did, I felt something different. With time I knew that what I saw in him was more real, more achievable if you will. I love him so, I do Findekáno!”

 

“I know you do Elenwë. I have seen how you admire him, how you devour him with a simple gaze.”

 

Elenwë looked at Findekáno with surprise. Had she been that open? “And how does he see me? You would know more than most.”

 

“He adores you. He holds you as the most special gift. He loves you more than anything Elenwë.”

 

Elenwë had a defiant look about her. “And that is what angers me. He holds me on a pedestal and refuses to see me for who I am. Love can blossom but it cannot grow under such circumstances.”

 

Without thinking, Findekáno reached his hand up and cupped her face, “You are wise Elenwë, wise beyond your few years. My brother will see this.”

 

What Findekáno had offered as a token of support was in error. When Findekáno’s rough hands touched Elenwë ’s delicate skin it aroused a fire within her. She struggled to control her breathing as she looked upon his beautiful face, so like Turukáno, but yet so, well, Findekáno.

 

Amarië saw the gesture, correctly reading the exchange, and slightly inebriated, felt emboldened by what she felt was right for Elenwë. “Ingo, I wish to go now,” she whispered, placing a tempting kiss on his lips, “and I mean not to wait.” Amarië stood holding her hand out to her lover.

 

Findaráto took her hand in his and stood, encircling her with his arms. “We are leaving. Be safe the three of you,” he announced as he and Amarië gingerly stepped around the many figures sitting or laying on the grass. “And Findekáno, thank you cousin. I am in your debt.”

 

“I’ll remember that,” Findekáno replied watching the lovers depart as hastily as they could.

 

Irissë stood, “We should leave as well. Wait for me here. I’ll be but a second.” She looked back at Findekáno and Elenwë trying to repress a sick feeling in her stomach.

 

Elenwë stood, likewise offering her hand to Findekáno. “Let us wait for Irissë away from here. She’ll find us.”

 

Findekáno stood, taking Elenwë’s hand as she led him away from the crowd and into the dark streets. His hand overwhelmed hers, but her hand felt good in his. Findekáno paused, releasing Elenwë’s hands. “Elenwë, I cannot…”

 

“You cannot what…” Elenwë turned looking at the tall elf before her. “What have I asked of you?”

 

“Nothing Elenwë. I am sorry.”

 

“Well then I will make my way.” Elenwë turned and strode purposefully down the dark street in the wrong direction. She could hear Findekáno behind her, calling out her name. She had to hug herself to prevent herself from breaking out in a run. Tears were threatening to spill. How had she buried her feelings for Findekáno so deeply? She loved Turukáno, but she hadn’t resolved what she thought was a childish infatuation. Could she really have more love to give than what was allowed?

 

She felt Findekáno’s hands grab her shoulders, turning her around, his face wild with confusion. “Elenwë, what is wrong with you!”

 

Elenwë bit her lip. She was not going to cry. In fact she didn’t spill a single tear. She felt her body straighten, a strength fill her. “Do you really want women to have the freedom to behave as men Findekáno?”

 

Findekáno was clearly confused. “Elenwë, I do not understand?”

 

Findekáno was not hiding his feelings from her. This pleased her. She had never seen him so exposed, so him. It was maddening. “The Harlot,” she muttered, “the Harlot. That story about the husband wanting to condemn his wife because she needed to fulfill herself outside the marriage. Findekáno I want more than what I have!”

 

Findekáno was no youth, but he refused to hear Elenwë, no he could not hear her for he feared it.

 

“Findekáno,” Elenwë demanded, catching his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Do you not desire me?”

 

Findekáno sucked in his breath. How had it come to this? “I, I, Elenwë, please don’t...Turukáno.”

 

“Turukáno?” she cried out. “Where is he tonight Findekáno and with who?”

 

“You know where he is Elenwë,” Findekáno whispered, grabbing hold of Elenwë ’s hands trying to calm her.

 

Elenwë growled, almost spilling her knowledge to Findekáno. She knew who Turukáno was with and it burned her that her beloved could not devour her body in the way Turukáno took that woman. Elenwë could not fight back the tears. “Findekáno, your brother wants to enshrine me. What of my desires?”

 

Findekáno remembered his earlier lighthearted conversation with Ingoldo. It was not so funny now. “And what do you want of me Elenwë,” Findekáno replied, now truly facing the heart of the matter. “Do you want me to bed you, betray my brother?” He was harsh but the truth needed to be said.

 

Elenwë cursed Findekáno, turning away wanting to place distance between them.

 

Findekáno came up behind her, grabbing her by the arm, but she went forward against the strength of Findekáno, gritting her teeth. Findekáno wrapped her in his arms, picking her up off the floor, “Elenwë,” he whispered, falling back from her weight. His head was swimming, the wine weighing heavy in him and in her too he knew. _Careful_ , he thought to himself, _wine leads to regrets._ Yet there it was, the feel of Elenwë against him, his hands tightly wrapped around her waist, the curve of her back pressed against him.

 

She felt him, felt his desire awaken, and she pressed harder against it, a soft moan escaping her breath. She felt his breath against her cheek, his heat, as he breathed her in. She did not want to break the spell, to feel burning desire. Findekáno slowly released her but he did not push her away from his embrace. Slowly she turned to face him, looking up into his eyes, her mouth open in desire, her chest rising heavily with each breath. Elenwë reached up and pulled him down to her, claiming his lips. He did not pull away. He felt her lips urgent in their exploration. He opened his mouth to her, feeling her tongue tentatively explore his own. He could not bear it. He responded, hungrily kissing her, tasting her, expertly, opening and closing in a rhythm of a desperate kiss. She moaned as he claimed her with his mouth. He was lost. He could not turn back. His weakness.

 

“Not here,” he whispered. Soon the two were stumbling, caught up in each other’s embrace, making their way down narrow alleys and streets, paths that Findekáno knew too well. They approached the back entrance of his father’s home. “No one’s home,” he whispered hungrily, “will you come with me?

 

“Yes,” she demanded, her voice heavy with desire.

 

Findekáno swiftly picked her up as they made their way through the large empty home to his rooms. He expertly opened the doors without setting her on the ground. “Elenwë?” he asked a shadow of a doubt in his mind.

 

But Elenwë was not going to be denied. She slipped out of his arms and undid her simple dress. She stood there before Findekáno, stripped, stripped beyond body. She was in bloom.

 

Findekáno recognized her innocence battle with her womanhood. Here she was revealing it to him, so special. She came up to him pressing herself against him, exploring his body with her hands. She slipped the simple tunic off of him, marveling at the feel of his muscles beneath her hands. Findekáno broke. He picked her up and laid her on his bed, lowering himself over her as he pulled off his boots and leggings. He devoured her with his kisses. Finally he felt her naked form against his body. He smelled her sweetness and explored every single corner of her, supple, inviting. He trailed soft kisses down her stomach.

 

The desire of her body was explosive as she pulled away from the sensation of his kisses as they continued down until they claimed her, licking with a hard tongue, playing with her in full bloom. She grabbed Findekáno’s hair, pushing him further into her desire. With his hands he explored her openings. He drove her wild in a way she had been ignorant of up until that moment. Her voice rose higher and louder, moaning uncontrollably, without regret, until a rush of warmth and unbelievable energy took over her in waves emanating from her depths, her toes curling.

 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she looked upon Findekáno who had rolled over next to her, his cock large, thick, and hard. She had not imagined this sight as a young innocent love struck girl. It was entirely unexpected. She had imagined this moment, but not with Findekáno. Somehow the forbiddenness of it titillated her, her skin responding to Findekáno’s breath.

 

Findekáno let his hand trail down from her breasts to her stomach, tracing the line of her abdomen, down to between her legs, finally allowing his fingers to enter her and feel her inner flower.

 

Elenwë shuddered. She was not done, not at all. She looked at Findekáno with confused expectation. She could not believe it! Here she was lying with Findekáno, knowing that she was going to feel him inside her. The anticipation of sex was exhilarating!

 

Findekáno gently knelt over her, kissing her until she was writhing against him and he in turn riding her dance. She watched as he guided his cock between her legs, felt the tip of it tease her. She thrust her hips up hungrily wanting to claim it, but Findekáno was a fine lover. Slowly he slipped inside, shallowly at first as her breathing became erratic both from sensation and from the knowledge she was being claimed in a way that exceeded her wildest dreams. Slowly, steadily he moved inside her, plunging steadily and more deeply with each thrust.

 

“Oh you’re so wet,” he whispered hungrily, “so wet.”

 

“Harder, more,” she whimpered unable to control the desire that flamed within her.

 

“So ready,” he moaned beginning to lose himself in her.

 

“Harder,” she cried out, “please!” she begged not sure how to voice her want.

 

Findekáno obliged, totally lost in the drive of passion, plunging into her wildly.

 

The sound of their bodies overwhelmed her. Elenwë had heard so many speak of it distastefully but it was delightful, to feel, to hear, to know that her body was made for this. Her moaning came harder, more animalistic, as she pushed against Findekáno, finding his rhythm.

 

“I can’t hold out much longer,” he moaned, his own sounds wild and feral.

 

“Oh my lord,” Elenwë cried out, “I am almost there.” She was lost in the heavens. Findekáno was driving hard against her. She could feel his muscles contract and relax as he penetrated her. She cried out the most exquisite passion, the most sublime exultation! This was life! Suddenly Elenwë felt Findekáno throbbing within her, his seed spilling.

 

Slowly the two lovers caught their breath, Findekáno relaxing his heavy body on top of her, engulfing her. But she felt free under him, able to carry his weight, feeling how the weight of his body lay upon her, erotic, spent.

 

Findekáno propped himself up on his side, running a hand through her hair. “Elenwë,” he whispered, offering her a boyish smile.

 

Again she was struck at the many firsts she was experiencing, seeing him so open yet so young and innocent. It struck her then that there was an innocence to sex if one was open to it and unconcerned with what society took so many pains to cage and sanitize.

 

As if reading her mind, Findekáno whispered, his voice betraying his exhaustion, “There is nothing purer, nothing that signals the gift of our bodies, our breath, as this moment. Never forget this Elenwë.” He traced his fingers along her lips and placed a gentle kiss upon them.

 

Elenwë would never forget that moment, not for all the time she lived.

 

 

)()()()()(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vandë omentaina-  
> [1] The story that the Harlot tells is taken directly from The Decameron, Novel 7, by Giovanni Boccaccio. The italicized portions are from The Decameron. Replaced the original name of Rinaldo de' Pugliesi with Lumnaner, which means Burdensome/Oppressive Man. Replaced the original name Filippa with Heldandil, which means naked lover/friend. Quenya names taken from http://www.realelvish.net/quenya_names_personality.php. I hope you all enjoyed it.


	3. Under the light of Laurelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Findekáno/ Káno - Fingon  
> Findaráto/Ingoldo/Ingo-Finrod  
> Nelyafinwë /Maitimo/Russandol/Nelyo -Maedhros  
> Turukáno/Turno-Turgon  
> Afafinwë-Finarfin  
> Nolofinwë-Fingolfin
> 
> Unbeta’d. Apologies for the mistakes I miss.

**Chapter 3: Under the light of Laurelin**

 

The Golden light of Laurelin reached in, intruding on the lovers, tentatively exploring the bodies that slept tangled. Laurelin’s light, the only witness to such temperate beauty. Only hours earlier Telperion’s soft color witnessed a fire that threatened to undo the shadowy creases of silver night. Everything was so quiet. Somehow a reminder that the whole of creation held its breath, afraid to tempt the fates. A betrayal.

 

She cried. Not for her betrayal. She cried because in her breast swelled Doom, a doom that invaded her like one breathes in the delicate fragrance of a flower blooming, gentle, but a fickle reminder of loss. Suddenly it was gone. She inhaled the freshness of the morning, the light like a veil across her eyes, a gauzy separation between the now and tomorrow.

 

She reached out to him, her lover. She could not yet grasp the enormity of _him_. She recalled the nights she lay in her bed alone, a young maiden now ready to marry-so she was told-imagining him kissing her, making love to her. So silly she had been. Her fantasies revealed no truth, only chastity, only virtue. Her world thus closed to her; she could not know then the enormity, the beauty of it. Him filling her, filling her until her body exploded. She did not know what the day would hold, what tomorrow would usher in, but she was ready for it. She would face it and choose her path, fight for it, and for him, Turno.

 

She sighed, her beloved, but she was beginning to see through that veil, enough to understand she loved him too. Findekáno. Never had stopped, not a childish infatuation. If she ever had a daughter she would try to understand her grace and guide her more gently.

 

 _Turno_. She burned for him too. She would choose and it would always be Turno even if from afar. Bittersweet this world she was born into. Men could lay with women not their beloved and yet return to them always to claim them in marriage. Only then would Turno not turn to another, only because of senseless codes.

 

 _Findekáno_. Her king, her first, first love, first lover. Now she understood why he caused so many to seek him out. One only had to know bodily desire to see that this man had an air about him that suggested fire and boldness, grace and desire, a lover refined and giving, not afraid to take in turn.

 

 _Findekáno._ He stirred next to her. His eyes fluttering open. Regret? Pain? Yes, it appeared momentarily and then it was gone but she had seen it. Ever gentle and thoughtful he reached out and gently cupped her face.

 

 _Elenwë_. Like a field of gold, pale and gently swaying in the dance of the wind. A vision of her beneath him, so open to the pleasure he offered her, the pleasure they created. It had been unexpected to find himself so lost in her. His heart he kept secreted away, but she touched him and how could he face him, his brother?

 

“Elenwë,” he breathed, almost afraid to break the heavy silence, a silence that blanketed the room like a veil, luminous and weightless.

 

She responded but not as he expected. She pressed her body against him, her arousal blooming, nipples hard reminding her lover her need was great. Though he wanted to apologize and scream and run to the outer lands, he did not. He found himself responding, seeking her mouth, tentatively kissing her—more as a symbol of his own uncertainty than in response to her certain gaze.

 

She climbed on top of him, straddling him. The move unexpected making Findekáno gasp, his arousal now fiery. She pulled his arms above him, holding them, her blue eyes searching Findekáno’s face as she explored the feel of him with her desire, moving, exploring the sensations. She pressed against his sex, feeling it hard and ready for her.

 

His size aroused her, she felt her body preparing for him, the darkness, no the light between her legs wet, her own body vibrating, humming, in anticipation. She grabbed his length in her hands and suddenly she engulfed him. Taking him and feeling how he pierced her, ripped the veil. Now it was only clarity between the two as she began moving on him, riding him, finding a desperate rhythm, one of his hands expertly guiding her, the other taking hold of her nipple, pinching, caressing, flicking with utter knowledge of how he was devastating her.

 

He was losing himself in her, deeper, the vision of her lips, parted in erotic need, her hand exploring the feeling of his cock slipping in and out as she rode him, the other hand over his, urging him in his ministrations. He could feel her sweet essence pooling onto him, a mixture of sweat and nectar. Findekáno wanted to drink it, be lost in it. There was silence between them. That is no words were exchanged. Yet maybe silence is not appropriate for the sound of their bodies riding, slipping in and out of one another was palpable.

 

Findekáno wanted to flip her onto her back and be merciless but he restrained himself. She sought this for herself and it pleased him to offer it. Her movements on him became faster, wilder. She pushed in him deeper. She had found it; found that place inside her that only a lover could touch in this way to bring her to ecstasy. Now Findekáno took more control, knowing that she would slip, causing her wild indignation to have her need off center. He could feel that place deep inside her, and he moved in a different way with her, controlling her ride.

 

Her moaning and cries were uninhibited. Finally she broke the word silence between them, “Findekáno, that’s it, please don’t stop!” His rhythm now faster, bolder, wilder, the careful plunder now reckless for that place of desire was now buzzing, consuming the whole of her. He handled her nipples more roughly her hands over his demanding it, until he could no more, his desire exploding. She let out a cry of the purest ecstasy. He could feel her body tighten and engulf him and vibrate as the waves of desire washed and crashed over her, over both of them. The lovers’ ride slowed, their moans softer, their nectars now one.

 

Elenwë looked down at Findekáno, smiling faintly, her face flushed. She slipped off him and curled up next to him. Both lovers catching their breath. “Oh,” she startled with surprise as she saw the wetness on his groin, on his legs, more than just his seed for it was spilling out of her onto the bed.

 

“It’s something isn’t it,” Findekáno whispered, taking her hand to feel their lovemaking. “We are made for this.”

 

Elenwë’s cheek was against Findekáno’s chest, her eyes taking in the gloriousness of their lovemaking, reveling in the feel of her desire on him, clinging to his skin, drying. “I will not bathe for a time,” she chuckled, looking up at him.

 

Findekáno wrinkled his nose, “Enticing for me but it might be a problem for you depending on the length of this exile.”

 

“What about you?” She asked Findekáno.

 

“Mmmm,” he hummed in her ear. “I will wear your essence on me until someone locks me away.”

 

Elenwë laughed, not wanting to keep speaking for fear of where their words would take them, but Findekáno was not of the same mind.

 

“Elenwë,” he whispered, his voice serious.

 

She thought she heard a sadness there, or maybe she felt it as his voice rose in his chest.

 

“Elenwë,” he repeated, sitting up on the bed, running his hands through his messy hair, searching for a way to assuage his guilt.

 

She wanted to turn away from him, but she was not a child. She slid up next to him, holding his eyes steady in hers.

 

“I love my brother but I cannot say why I did not stop this.”

 

“Then do not,” she answered, her voice steady, sure. She was finding herself in more ways than one.

 

“No I must,” he continued. “Elenwë,” he whispered again more despondently, “I did not want to stop this. I made a choice.”  Findekáno swallowed, the weight of his words caught in his throat. He had made a choice and his brother he pushed aside. “I love my brother and now I fear the hurt this will bring me. If he finds out I will offer him my life. I know not what else to do.”

 

“Findekáno!” Elenwë retorted, “No! I will not hear it! I made a choice. I sought this,” she whispered, tracing her finger along his torso causing Findekáno to shudder. “I do not pretend not to know how this is for you, what lines have been crossed between brothers. But I do not regret it. No Findekáno. I am happy for it. My heart sings!”

 

“Elenwë, no…” Findekáno’s eyes widened in horror at the thought.

 

“Stop it with that stupidity!” she cried out. “Understand me Findekáno, my heart sings for me. And I will not regret for loving your brother and loving you.” There she said.

 

Findekáno’s face paled.

 

“But the one I choose, that I will always choose is Turno, but only if he chooses me. But how was I to know that, that is until now. Thank you Findekáno. I think,” she paused, looking out through a large window at trees that danced with the breeze, “I think there was no other way.”

 

“But if Turno finds out?” Findekáno asked his eyes brooding, his betrayal heavy in his heart.

 

“I will answer for my part and if he will have me and I choose to have him then we will be ok. But Findekáno, Turno must account for his own deeds.”

 

Findekáno furrowed his brows, not understanding how Turukáno must account for something he was not a part of.

 

“He is not guiltless Findekáno, but I will not discuss that. This is about me, and yes you, but please stop with that silly Finwion drama, ‘I will give him my life if he claims it,’” Elenwë added more defiantly. Sometimes the noble overtures of Finwë’s house were absurd, but this time, Findekáno was wholly absurd. Impulsively she punched Findekáno on the arm, eliciting an “Ouch!” She crossed her arms and glared at him, willing him to stop being so ridiculous.

 

Findekáno threw his head back and started laughing. “Indeed my bright lover, there is so much I do not know of you. And if I am understanding your words my brother deserves his own whipping?”

 

Elenwë stood from the bed, offering Findekáno her hand as he too stood. “I will not tell Turno, but if you need to then so be it. I will not ask you to do anything in either regard. That is between brothers.”

 

Findekáno went to the window to study the light of Laurelin. “Elenwë you must leave or you will risk raising the suspicion of others. I ask this for me as I can see you do not give a tinker’s damn whether anyone knows.”

 

Elenwë laughed, the tables were turned indeed, she thought to herself, though Findekáno was coming to the same conclusion, laughing at his newfound predicament.

 

“Very well. I will leave by the back entry and head to your uncle’s home for surely Amarië will be arriving shortly.” While she found it absurd that the two of them were guests in Arafinwë’s home after an evening out with Findaráto—the idea being that Arafinwë would protect their virtue under his roof—she was glad for it. Arafinwë and Eärwen did not abide by Vanyarin customs. In fact Eärwen was most appalled by them. Elenwë sniffed, “If only our own families gave us the latitude your fathers’ offer the damn lot of you!” She slipped her clothing on, Findekáno following suit.

 

As they exited the house, Káno exclaimed, ”Wait, I forgot something. Do not leave until I can escort you properly out the backdoor.”

 

Elenwë walked into the main foyer of the home, spinning and laughing to herself as she waited for Findekáno to return. He certainly was taking his time, she thought impatiently. Unbeknownst to her, a figure had emerged from the other end of the house, but Elenwë had not seen it.

 

Anairë had moments earlier entered her home, using hers and Nolofinwë’s private entrance. She heard the sounds of voices within, though she could not make out whose they were. She made her way to see, walking quietly in the custom of elves. She spotted Elenwë in the foyer. She was going to call out a greeting, but the flush in the maidens cheeks, her loose, wild hair suggested something more of an intimate nature.

 

Anairë blushed. She understood what was going on. Finally, she thought to herself, knowing Turukáno’s ideas regarding Elenwë. She smiled to herself. She really liked Elenwë, saw how she looked at Turno and how he regarded her. Anairë beamed, imagining a betrothal would be shortly announced. The thought warmed her but she was not going to interfere in the lovers’ secret good byes.

 

And then- then she heard a voice ringing through the house. It was not Turukáno’s.

 

“Forgive me Elenwë, I could not let you leave without a token, something from me.” Findekáno said these last words more shyly than was common for him.

 

“But you gave me everything I needed, Findekáno,” Elenwë replied, stepping up to him running her hands through his hair. “And I can never repay you for that.”

 

Findekáno let his hands fall around Elenwë, encircling her small waste, but unlike the prior evening, the kiss he offered was gentler, full of a different kind of emotion. He stepped back, pulling himself away from Elenwë. “Take this,” he spoke, his voice rough with a burgeoning desire.

 

For a moment Elenwë wanted to collapse into his arms, but she knew that if she did, she was making a different choice than the one she set her mind to.

 

Anairë observed Elenwë grasp whatever Findekáno had given her, holding it to her heart. Anairë’s own heart fell. How? What had she just seen? Had Elenwë and Turno ended their relationship and not told her?

 

Elenwë made to leave but then turned to Findekáno. “Remember, I will not tell Turno. Not now anyway. This is our secret, if you wish it to be.” She turned and left through the kitchens letting herself out the back entrance and proceeded to her destination as inconspicuously as possible. Elenwë wondered how she would keep her and Findekáno a secret from Amarië. Now more desperate, Elenwë hoped she could sneak into her and Amarië’s room at Arafinwë’s home.  

 

Anairë felt as if she had been hit with a heavy object. She fell back against the wall. She had not expected this. This was entirely unimaginable. For in that moment she foresaw only darkness and death for her sons.

 

“Astaldo,” she whispered, her body overcome by sobbing.

 

Findekáno heard a noise. The color in his face drained. His worst fears so quickly were being realized. He turned to find his mother’s broken face looking at him, hurt and pain reflected in her eyes. “Ama!” Findekáno cried out, not sure whether he should run to her, stay where he was or run where his legs would take him. But he stayed put. It was not in him to run. No, indeed, he would always face his darkest moments, his greatest fears, head on. “Ama,” he repeated, his voice echoing the pain swelling in his chest. Though he knew his offence was great, he was somewhat surprised at his mother’s reaction, though as he looked at her he saw her eyes were looking beyond him.

 

Anairë did not move. She was lost in a painful reverie.

 

Findekáno bounded up the stairs towards his mother. He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder, kneeling before her. “Ama,” he whispered, using his special name for Anairë, a vestige of his early days, when as a child he found it easier to say ama instead of _amil,_ a term adopted by his brother and sister. He had seen his mother lost in these moments of foresight- a gift of motherhood, though of late it seemed a curse for darkness had been the visions of many.

 

“I will lose all of you,” she whispered, her voice strangely empty and distant. Suddenly she inhaled sharply as if waking up from drowning, finding Findekáno before her. She clutched desperately at her firstborn. “I cannot bear to see all that I love lost before me. I will wait for you.”

 

“ _Amil_?” Findekáno queried.

 

“Findekáno!” Anairë spoke, more firmly. Her vision now like fog in the recesses of her mind, she focused her attention and anger at one who was now before her. Anairë stood abruptly. “Findekáno,” her voice low and angry directed at her eldest who wearily rose to stand as well. “Tell me that my eyes deceive me. That my son would not dare betray his brother so.”

 

Findekáno turned away from his mother, searching for words, but finding that no words could account for his actions. Turning back to face his mother with a heavy heart, he finally declared, “I have betrayed Turno and though I wish I could say to you that I was under a spell that bid me to act against my accord, I cannot. And neither can I admit to you that I wish I had not done it.” His voice broke, the pain and anger he saw reflected in his mother’s eyes was more than he could tolerate. He had never angered her so.

 

Anairë smoothed the skirt of her dress, thinking before offering her son words she might later regret. With that steely resolve typical of Anairë she took her son’s face in her hands, pulling his face down to look at her. “Do you love her?” she asked, more coldly than she intended, the scene of Findekáno kissing Elenwë tenderly, lovingly, etched in her mind.

 

“I do not know,” he replied honestly, looking into his mother’s grey eyes that were now a tempest.

 

Anairë, ever the pragmatist, answered, “I could possibly understand if you loved her, but you say you do not know? More than that you do not repent of your betrayal.”

 

“Ama!” Findekáno whispered, “It is not as you speak!”

 

“No?” she retorted. “Did you not just say that you would not take back your actions?” Anairë searched her son with her eyes.

 

“I am confused. I care for her. Something grows in here,” he replied, taking his mother’s hand to his heart. “But I cannot say if it is love. I do not know.”

 

But Anairë was a mother after all and Findekáno was in need. Her eyes grew soft. She took Findekáno into her embrace. “Oh my son, what have you done.”

 

“Ama,” Findekáno’s voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. He had not felt so vulnerable since he was a child, but the comfort of a mother’s arms provides refuge, something he needed.

 

“Go home and rest. Come for dinner this evening. Your _atto_ will be here. Irissë will be here as well. Turukáno will not return from Alqualondë for a few days. You and I will retire from dinner and speak.”

 

“Yes _amil_ , I will be here,” Findekáno answered obediently, but he was not looking forward to seeing Irissë. He had forgotten about her.

 

)()()()(

 

Findekáno entered his quarters. He had not lived at his parents’ home for some time. Indeed it was tradition amongst Noldorin nobility that young bachelor’s keep separate homes. He was not alone. From behind him he heard footsteps approach him. Arms encircled him, pulling him close to the body behind him.

 

“You have been with a woman. You reek of her,” a voice whispered accusatorily.

 

Strong arms pushed Findekáno away. Findekáno turned to face his accuser. “I was not expecting you,” he replied, his voice betraying no emotion.

 

“No?” A tall elf declared, an eyebrow raised provocatively. “Am I not welcome in your home Astaldo? Years ago you would have felt my arms around you and you would have taken me right here. The whore you lay with must have been good for you seem spent.”

 

“Nelyafinwë!” Káno replied, exasperated by his cousin’s petulance. “I saw you but a week ago and you declared to me then that you wanted my father’s house to rot. Fëanáro is your father but I refuse to have his propaganda come between us.” Findekáno tensed, looking defiantly at the elf with dark red hair that stood tall, taller than most, save Turukáno.

 

“Oh dear,” Maitimo purred, “so formal Findekáno. Have I upset you so much that I will never hear you moan _Russandol?”_

Findekáno stepped aggressively toward Maitimo, grabbing him by his collar. “It is not so easy. You know my love for you. Do not throw around such careless words.” Findekáno had Maitimo pinned against the wall. Though Maitimo was a bit taller, Káno was broader and stronger; nevertheless Maitimo did not struggle to free himself from Findekáno’s rough embrace reasoning this might be the closest he felt Findekáno next to him. They were becoming estranged. Each son’s fealty to their father cleaving the closeness that had once existed despite Maitimo’s long absences.

 

“At least you admit you still love me,” Maitimo replied plainly, staring into his lover’s eyes.

 

Findekáno could never stay angry with Maitimo. Examining his eyes Findekáno saw a tenderness there, behind the cold mask, the haughtiness that had overtaken Maitimo under his father’s growing recklessness.

 

“Do not do that Astaldo,” Maitimo replied, his voice growing vulnerable.

 

“Do what?” Findekáno asked.

 

“Disarm me with that searching look of yours.” Maitimo squirmed not because he was uncomfortable under Findekáno’s firm hold, but because Findekáno was stripping away his defenses, laying him bear like no other could. Abruptly, Maitimo leaned into Findekáno, pressing his lips against him.

 

Findekáno hesitated but the feel of Maitimo, his taste, he could not resist despite all he had been through, and he answered, greedily kissing in return. However, after a moment, he pulled away releasing Maitimo, who sank to the floor, his legs weak. “My obligation to beauty is my burden,” Findekáno murmured half-heartedly as he sank on the floor next to Maitimo.

 

“Your burden or your crime?” Maitimo asked, a demure smile gracing his lips. Maitimo continued, wrapping his arms around his knees, laying his head on Findekáno shoulder, “Sometimes I wish I could run as far away from the web that is Fëanáro, but he is my obligation, my burden.”

 

Findekáno relaxed, enjoying the feel of Maitimo against him, familiar, striking. “Yes, our obligation,” Findekáno replied, for once not angry that their houses were increasingly divided. Findekáno’s mind was elsewhere. His betrayal weighing heavy on him: “It seems I am doomed to the status of philanderer.”

 

A grin spread across Maitimo’s handsome face, “Better a philanderer than a degenerate.” Maitimo shifted, pressing his nose into Findekáno’s neck, inhaling the smell that lingered on him, the smell of sex. “I rather enjoy the status of degenerate.”

 

Findekáno laughed. Unlike him, Maitimo had no interest in maidens and this led to much speculation. If women were not yet accorded a status equal to that of men, men who deviated from the proper comportment of manhood were deemed completely outside the bounds of proper morality—at least under more moralistic Vanyarin and Noldorin views.

And while many of the Noldor did not pay attention to such constraints and attempted to leave the Vanyar to their moralism, the Princes of the Noldor were held to different standards, particularly when it came to matters that might muddy the line of succession. Though elves had not been consumed with the politics of heirship, the growing tensions and dissension amongst the Noldor placed the Noldorin princes under increased scrutiny.

 

Findekáno mused, “Is it not ironic that royal intrigue gives not a damn about philandering but of you, Nelyafinwë, the most committed and loyal they name degenerate?” Findekáno’s face tensed. Ultimately Maitimo’s loyalty did not lay with him. “If only your loyalty to me was as complete as it is to your father.” He knew it was not a fair indictment and rather self-centered, but that was how Findekáno and Maitimo were with each other, always honest even if that honesty revealed faults.

 

Maitimo pulled away from Findekáno, closing his eyes in frustration. Always Fëanáro and Nolofinwë, their fathers, ever the impediment between them. Would there ever exist a time it would not be so? Maitimo could not imagine it, but he also knew that his father wielded aspects of truth to fit his desires, but there those kernels of truth remained, bright and obtrusive. “Your heart is not fully given to me Astaldo,” Maitimo accused Findekáno. “Why should I offer you the whole of mine now? Is it not enough that you have my body? I could never lay with another,” Maitimo reproached Findekáno. “I did give myself to you completely, but what you want now I cannot give,” Maitimo reminded Findekáno of the growing estrangement in their relationship, “yet I know I too do not have your heart.”

 

Findekáno’s eyes shut, his body succumbing to the languor of after-sex. Sighing, he replied, not sure if he truly ever had Maitimo’ love and what could remain of it. “Do I have your love?” Maitimo stayed silent, closing his eyes, his head resting against the wall, focusing on the sound of the rise and fall Findekáno’s breath. Findekáno peered at Maitimo through one eye, watching the smile that adorned his beautiful face disappear.

 

“In the way of star struck lovers you have my love completely,” Maitimo whispered, overcome with the weight of the strange day.

 

Findekáno replied, pensively, “But I do not have all of it. I imagine that if I did you would have never left my side, but I am not sentimental.”

 

Maitimo stayed silent. There was no more to add to words that had been mercilessly and tirelessly exchanged between them. He would no more have all of Findekáno because he could not give himself entirely to him. If only their lives could be simpler. He heard Findekáno stand and head towards his bedchamber, his feet falling more heavily than usual as he walked.

 

Maitimo felt as if his chest were a corset being slowly tightened. That familiar feeling of drowning crept to the edges of his consciousness, teasing him, warning him of what was to follow. In the pit of his stomach that same sick feeling warmed him. At times he chose not to see Findekáno if only to delay the inevitable anxiety and pain he would feel. He loved him so, yet theirs was an ill fated love it seemed.

 

“Nelyo,” he heard Findekáno call to him.

 

Maitimo shook his head, trying to rid himself of the nausea. Slowly he stood, inhaling and exhaling deliberately, willing his lungs to fall into a more natural rhythm. He would go to Findekáno. He always would, when nothing else stood in his way, he would always go to him. Findekáno had fallen on his bed, only his boots had been slipped off. His eyes were closed, he was falling into sleep.

 

“Astaldo?” Maitimo asked, worry coloring his voice. He had been so selfish. Maitimo had not taken time to consider that the deep pain that touched Findekáno was not about them. “Astaldo?” Findekáno patted the bed next to him. Maitimo sighed. Whatever was wrong he hoped Findekáno would unburden himself. Maitimo slid onto the bed next to him, hesitantly slipping his arm over Findekáno.

 

Findekáno turned to Maitimo, placing a gentle hand on Maitimo’s cheek, searching his sad grey eyes. “’You are like the word melancholy.’ What I would give to see you with joy” [1].

 

Maitimo recognized the words of a noted Teleri poet. He watched as Findekáno’s eyes shut, drifting into sleep, secure in Maitimo’s arms. The poet’s versus filled Maitimo’s heart and he whispered to his beloved:

 

“ _Allow me to speak to you even in your silence_

_bright as a lamp, simple as a ring._

_You are like the night, silent and covered in stars._

_Your silence is that of a star, so far and simple_.” [1]

 

)()()()(

 

Hours went by. The light of Laurelin revealing Maitimo’s depths. He held him, his lover, his friend. Silently the tears came. Maitimo knew not from where. Somewhere, some place, a vast ocean was spilled, the floods raging, tearing down the edifices of civilization. The known world was naked before his eyes. Rather than feeling his chest tightening he felt as if the light of Laurelin was filling him, making him expand until he would dissipate. He buried his face in Findekáno’s hair, breathing in his intoxicating scent. Slowly the smell of him wrapped itself around Maitimo, protecting him, grounding him. The tears slowed, the ocean receded, the bedchamber sharpened back into focus.

 

Findekáno stirred. “Maitimo?” he mumbled searching his face, feeling the dampness on his cheeks. “Nelyo,” he breathed more urgently catching his lover’s face in his hands. “What distresses you so?”

 

“Have I lost you Findekáno?” Maitimo asked, needing to know. Though Maitimo knew that Findekáno was yet his, there was a growing shadow in his heart that whispered that he and Findekáno would soon be parted. Somehow, the weight in Findekáno’s heart was tied to this shadow.

 

Findekáno propped himself up onto his elbow. “Nelyo we cannot keep revisiting this. No words can change what is.” Findekáno threw himself onto his back, staring at the simple ceiling. The damn architect that was commissioned to build his quarters had insisted that any Prince who understands his worth should have murals on the ceilings. Findekáno could not fathom having to take rest while staring up at absurd figures engaged in the same scene day in day out.

 

“No Findekáno, this is different. I feel you far from me, farther than any other time.” Maitimo also stared at the empty ceiling that reflected back the emptiness he felt inside. He sensed Findekáno tense next to him. _Ah_ , Maitimo thought to himself, _there is something or someone._ “Is it this maiden you were with? Her scent clings to you possessively.”

 

Findekáno turned to examine Maitimo, assessing his mental state. Fëanáro was taking too much of his eldest, expecting too much. Fëanáro’s fire roared large, but the kindle was his sons. Yet Findekáno knew that if any elf could withstand it, it was Maitimo. He was the strongest elf he knew. Nothing stood between them. No secrets. That was as they always reminded themselves their burden. Findekáno stood and walked to a balcony, sheltered in a corner of his bedchamber. It overlooked the shining white city that plunged below, etched into a steep fold of the hill. From it he could see the Bay of Eldamar, the waters offering a respite from the intrigues of the city.

 

Maitimo sat up on the bed, observing as Findekáno quietly made his way across the room, his grace returned to him.

 

“Though it pains me to tell you this I must,” Findekáno finally spoke, breaking the heavy silence. Findekáno had not expected to see Maitimo. In fact, he had not considered how Maitimo might react to his night with Elenwë. _On with it_ , he thought to himself, but in truth he was having a difficult time hearing himself speak his unfaithfulness.

 

“I betrayed Turno,” he finally admitted aloud.

 

“How so?” Maitimo asked, his voice revealing the tension washing over him. He had not expected Findekáno to say those words.

 

Findekáno turned to face Maitimo. “I, I was with Elenwë until this morning.”

 

Maitimo was stunned. This was certainly unexpected. He opened his mouth, but he knew not what to say. Instead he just sat staring at Findekáno.

 

Findekáno watched Maitimo intently, but Maitimo did not outwardly reveal how he was processing the confession. He moved and sat on the edge of the bed, his head resting in his hands. Then he felt Maitimo’s hand on his back, reassuring, offering silent support. Of course he would. It was always thus between them. “I could have chosen to do otherwise, but I was selfish and let my own desires choose my path.”

 

“It would not be the first time,” Maitimo replied without irony. “Do you care for her?” Maitimo asked, getting to the heart of it.

 

“I do,” Káno replied more tentatively, continuing, “Though I cannot say I love her-“

 

“-Yet.” Maitimo interrupted, knowing Findekáno better than most. Indeed there must have been something that drew Findekáno to his brother’s beloved for he was not one to hurt his family thus, and certainly not Turno. No it was not like Findekáno at all.

 

Findekáno lifted his head, his eyes revealing the depth of the pain the betrayal cost him. “Elenwë had not been with another, not even Turno, that is until me.”

 

“Lucky maiden,” Maitimo laughed, unwilling to allow Findekáno to grow in his dark mood.

 

Findekáno was going to reproach Maitimo, but Maitimo’s laughter was contagious, a grin soon spread on his face.

 

“She sought you out,” Maitimo guessed, knowing Findekáno was bold, but not brazen.

 

“Ay, I guess you could say that,” Findekáno offered. “And she’s bolder than I could have imagined,” he continued his eyes staring off into an unseen place. “She does not regret it.”

 

“Then neither should you Astaldo,” Maitimo offered, though he knew that what had occurred carried weight for what was between them-Maitimo and Findekáno- but what was done was done. For Maitimo there was no sense in dwelling in what should not have been. Maitimo was ever the pragmatist, dealing in what was. He would not lose Findekáno to Elenwë or to some self inflicted punishment Findekáno might impose on himself. No, if their relationship was to end, it would be entirely because of something he, Maitimo, precipitated.

 

Findekáno turned to face Maitimo, steel in his eyes. “I do not regret it Maitimo nor do I wish for things not to have occurred. There have never been secrets between us.“

 

)()()()()(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] “You are like the word melancholy” is a line from Poem 15 by Pablo Neruda as are the verses spoken by Maitimo to Káno


	4. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about Finwë and Indis' children and about Noldorin politics. Findekáno has to face his ama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Findekáno/ Káno - Fingon  
> Findaráto/Ingoldo/Ingo-Finrod  
> Nelyafinwë /Maitimo/Russandol/Nelyo -Maedhros  
> Turukáno/Turno-Turgon  
> Arafinwë-Finarfin  
> Nolofinwë/ Aracáno -Fingolfin  
> Fëanáro- Fëanor  
> Írien/Írimë/Lalwendë-Lalwen  
> Laurefindil-Glorfindel  
> Irissë/Ar-Feiniel-Aredhel
> 
> Unbeta’d. Apologies for the mistakes I miss.

**Chapter 4: Fate**

 

Findekáno wandered the shining streets and alleyways of Tirion, heading away from the Great Square, towards the lower parts of the crowning city, where the dwellings were smaller, more densely packed. Here lived the cobblers, the tailors, the blacksmiths, the plumbers, the seamstresses, those folk who were the heart of every day life in Tirion.  Although the Noldor chaffed under the piety and morality of the Vanyar, the Noldor were far from faultless. Yes, women were accorded more freedom in Noldorin society, but it remained highly hierarchical, little room for people to move beyond their station. There were some who sought to bring change to the social order. In this the children of Finwë were united, and they had been formidable in better times, before the lies of Melkor drove darkness and mistrust before them. Yet even in better times such unison was not necessarily born out of love, but of late the discord between the brothers proved a danger to the whole of the Noldor. Findekáno found himself thinking about his family, contemplating the events that had precipitated much of the intrigue that surrounded them in the moment…

 

Though Findekáno often focused his thoughts on his father and Feanaro of late, his aunts were also central figures in his life. And what of Findis and Írimë, the eldest and third born children of Indis and Finwë? To hear tales told of Finwë’s children is to hear tales told of his sons. After all it was between the sons, between Fëanáro and Nolofinwë and Arafinwë, that the greatest of injury lay for it is said that between brothers pride and virility are the root of much discontent. Yet even with his sisters, or half-sisters, as Fëanáro was so quick to remind, there was a tension. In better years, before the treachery of Melkor began to spread like a poison, there was a sort of truce amongst the siblings. And even Findis, who had the most reason to distance herself from Fëanáro had grown comfortable in their amicable state. Findis’s love for Fëanáro was hard to come by for he had shunned her mercilessly when she was but a child. Findis understood his pain, jealous of the love their father showed her, the absence of his mother, but nevertheless she could not fathom how Fëanáro continued to be so indifferent to her. Yet Fëanáro’s marriage to Nerdanel offered a respite from their complicated relationship. The distance too helped. Nerdanel and Fëanáro settled in the outskirts of Tirion, Fëanáro preferring no easy intrusions from nosy Noldorin neighbors and family.

 

In much the same way as Fëanáro, finding love for Findis filled much of the hurt she had carefully collected and kept deep within her. Through her mother’s family she met a delightful Vanyarin fellow named Caliondo, quite the eccentric type -- for a Vanya -- a painter and man of thought, a trained philosopher. And Caliondo deeply loved Findis, his muse. They had two children. The eldest son, Laiqualassë, was followed by Faniel whom Findekáno little knew for she married a Vanya and resided in Taniquetil. Laiqualassë on the other hand, Findekáno adored. He was Findekáno’s second eldest cousin who married a Noldorin noble woman, Mairen and they had a son, Laurefindil, who was close to Nolofinwë’s sons, though he was closest to Turukáno being but a few years younger than Turno.

 

Írimë, the most headstrong of Finwë’s children, was the glue that held them together. Yet in infamy or not, the stubbornness of Fëanáro was the one celebrated, but for those who actually knew the children of Finwë, Írimë was the most persistent and generally because at the heart of it, she was mostly always right. She possessed a silver tongue, which she used to delicately and strategically fulfill the will of her father. Findekáno smiled to himself, his aunt Lalwen, as Írimë was commonly called, would suffer no fools, but her manners and countenance being that of one fair and feminine belied her will and determination. Of all the siblings, she alone could wield Fëanáro, though he knew this and chose to keep his distance of her, so much so that he convinced Finwë to send her to Ingwë’s court, knowing she would not refuse a station not usually granted to women. There in Taniquetil Lalwen met Eärnur, a Noldorin poet commissioned to Ingwë’s court who would become her husband.

 

Findekáno paused outside a candlemaker’s shop to peruse the many colors and shapes of candles. Most were practical for Fëanorian lamps, though used by all, were not the only source of lighting in the homes and paths of Tirion. Findekáno spied a set of candles, carved in the shape of a flower, deep blue in color. These his mother and aunt Lalwen would love. As he handed the candlemaker her coins, a deep fire kindled within him. He had to keep himself from frowning knowing the maiden would think he was displeased with her or her craft. Yes Findekáno was displeased. He was displeased with the state of things, unhappy that if his love for Maitimo was discovered, he would be subject to severe punishment and would be ostracized socially. Findekáno was also troubled by the betrayal of his brother and how easy it had come to him. Maybe he wasn’t such an outstanding citizen after all?

 

As Findekáno walked back out to the path he had been following, he remembered the times, in much earlier years, when he and Maitimo would hole up in a room in Finwë’s courts, writing and debating, how best to break the Noldorin caste system they so despised. They thought much of themselves then, for harboring such lofty ideals, and committing themselves so deeply to their cause, but it was Lalwen, in one of her interludes in Tirion, who tutored the two of them not only in the politics of such work but also in the heart of it. Fëanáro had grumbled as much to them, but Maitimo would hear it neither from his father nor Findekáno from his. Arafinwë’s advice to both fathers was to let their sons learn on their own, but neither father, proud of his child, wanted to see them so belittled either by members of the Royal Court or the people of Tirion. But where fathers could not succeed, Lalwen easily led. She was after all one of Finwë’s chief emissaries to the High King’s Court in Taniquetil.

 

And indeed, through Lalwen, Finwë wielded more influence in Ingwë’s Court, yet her time in Taniquetil was cyclic. Under the advice of Finwë, though selfish it was, Lalwen served her father in Taniquetil, alternating with extended stays in Tirion. She returned to Tirion after the birth of her twin daughters, Enelyë and Lindórië, which Finwë and Indis wished not to be parted from. Lalwen raised them in Tirion through their majority, but the thrill of court life and her husband’s desires to once again serve using his craft led them back to Ingwë’s court. Thus Lalwen split her time between her service to the High King of the elves and the daily, simpler life of a mother in Tirion. In Tirion she was present for the marriages of her daughters to Noldorin nobles, and the births of her grandchildren, Ecthelion son of Enelyë and Egalmoth son of Lindórië. The line of Lalwen were all headstrong, fair of face and tongue, and good natured. Indeed Ecthelion and Egalmoth, her grandsons, were as close as brothers, so resembling one another people often mistook them for twins. These two were close to Arafinwë’s sons, Angaráto and Ambaráto, and Ecthelion was especially close to Laurefindil, son of Laiqualassë- the son of Findis if you remember [1].

 

Truly, the House of Finwë was a noble line, yet Findekáno understood that the hereditary line for the High King of the Noldor was a point of contention for both Findis and Lalwen since it only passed through the sons. Though but in name, the politics of such choices spoke volumes to the place women were accorded. Certainly, Findekáno meditated, nothing in Findis’ or Lalwen’s life in Tirion was simple. Findekáno’s thoughts turned to his aunt Lalwen. She had to tread carefully in Tirion, not shun Vanyarin dictates out rightly or risk losing the influence she held in Ingwë’s court. Findekáno of late, often found himself modeling himself after his aunt. Thus when the Noldorin decrees of women entering particular trades were announced, she had to smartly and carefully dance her way through Vanyarin opinions on the topic. But Lalwen was up to the task, enjoying the different errands she set herself to in Tirion. There she had the ear of her father and eased Fëanáro’s temper, her relationship with Nerdanel a good one.

 

Lalwen recognized the spark and will of Findekáno and Maitimo, and their stubborn and brash nature. So much like their fathers. They could little refuse her when she came to them, in the small room, an office really, reserved to them in the Royal Halls of Tirion. To them she offered this: appraisal and honest feedback of their plans in exchange for what she called courting your lover. As part of her lessons, Lalwen sent Findekáno and Maitimo away to the Woods of Oromë, learning the work of hewing trees, getting them ready to transport to Tirion, where carpenters would wield the wood and shape it into many forms. After this apprenticeship, Findekáno and Maitimo found themselves under the tutelage of a boisterous fellow, a Noldo carpenter of steady patience: Eruséro. Thus they learned the long line and worth of a thing--from tree to stool-- but most importantly they learned of the truth of Lalwen’s lesson: to win the heart of one you wish to woo, you must court your lover, and in this way Findekáno and Maitimo came to know well the people of Tirion. In the end both had to begrudgingly admit the truth of their fathers’ words for Finwë had asked and seen the same of his sons. In a way, this found Findekáno and Maitimo new respect for their fathers, a deeper understanding of the friendships they shared with the men that would frequent them in their homes, mere millers, or carpenters as some would say.

 

Findekáno cut through narrow alleyways, the candles nestled under his arm. He was going to his old friend Eruséro’s shop, someone he would most likely not have met had it not been for Lalwen’s influence. Findekáno entered the small carpenter’s shop in Lower Tirion. The young maiden who greeted Findekáno at the entrance of the carpenter’s shop informed him that her father had stepped out and that he would be back but in a few minutes if he wished to wait. Findekáno agreed, being shown a seat in the shop. The young maiden blushed as she explained the stool was the best she could offer. He insisted it was remarkably suitable, remembering her but a babe in her mother’s arms. He’d have to ask Eruséro when his daughter started to help at the shop. It was Eruséro who had expressed his wishes that his children ought to have the opportunity to aspire beyond the confines set to them by rigid Noldorin social order. She was a smart one, Eruséro had beamed with pride, speaking of his daughter’s worth during another of Findekáno’s visits accompanied by Findaráto. It was then that Findaráto shared Finwë’s sons’ plans with Eruséro and of the political will set against them.  

 

As Findekáno waited in the carpenter’s shop for his friend, his mind turned to his uncle Arafinwë. Arafinwë, the pragmatist of the three brothers, had insisted the Royal Noldor Council, the governing body of Finwë’s court, focus on creating infrastructure for schooling beyond the trades offered by traditional Noldorin education for those of the lower classes. Fëanáro had led a special inquiry into the issue, the commission elaborating a report on the topic. It offered a vision through which the Noldor might offer increased social mobility within Noldorin society. The report was met with much apprehension. Findekáno recalled sitting in his grandfather’s home as the siblings discussed the outcome. Fëanáro was upset by what he called Noldorin nuisances, those too scared to imagine what change could bring. Lalwen tempered Fëanáro, offering that maybe a better approach would have been to publish one key finding of the commission, that less was more in dealing with the old guard.

 

Old guard, Findekáno chuckled to himself as he waited for his friend. For a people whose lives were immeasurable in time, they had quickly established traditions that somehow came to be seen as immoveable, permanent and natural to the Noldor. Yet that was furthest from the truth for the Laws that governed at the time of the Awakening had been dispensed with, though there were those who still abided by them in Aman. Indeed, the Noldor reconstituted the past and refashioned it in a way that suited them in the present. Nolofinwë always reminded Findekáno and his siblings of that irony: “We tell the same great stories, sing the same lays, but we remake them nevertheless—remake them to tell the story we want them to tell.” Findekáno returned his thoughts to the report. Though all knew that the real reason the report was dead before arriving to the council floor was because of the intrigue of Atanalcar, a Noldor who held no love for any of the sons of Finwë and more importantly, no love for change. Knowing that Fëanáro’s words would move the Council members to his side, Atanalcar had expertly positioned himself to be appointed to the commission. Once there, Atanalcar made sure it was he would present the report to the Council. Knowing the fears that were beginning to spread amongst the populace, he did not speak in favor or against the report, simply presented the information letting the atmosphere of distrust toss it aside. If Fëanáro would have spoken, he would have molded his thoughts into such words that the Noldor would not have refused, such was Fëanáro’s mind.

 

Findekáno’s thoughts were briefly interrupted by the young woman who was cleaning the shop. Turning to look at her, Findekáno observed the quick work she made of cleaning. It was obvious that this was a task she took to with frequency as her routine was efficient. Findekáno often thought about his position as a Prince, the luxuries afforded to him, which was why his Uncle Arafinwë’s plan was so important, but like too many things of late in Tirion, it was caught up in the devolving and turbulent politics of the Noldor. Recalling the fiasco of the report, Findekáno’s thoughts turned to his grandfather who wielded his power with a gentler hand. Because of the impasse, Finwë intervened, knowing that he had to tread carefully with anything that came from his sons, otherwise he would be accused of allowing his children dictate what was good for the Noldor. Finwë divulged that he had known the commission and the report would be met in such a way; but, waving off protests from his sons, he was now free to seek the will of the people-- a procedure at the disposal of the King when a parliamentary issue came before him that he considered was in the best interest of all the Noldor but was rejected in Council. It was then that Finwë turned to his children and grandchildren asking them that if they wished to see the commission’s will through, they needed to make sure they convinced as many to speak in favor of seeing the report go through public process; thus forcing the Council to pass the recommendations and begin the process of seeing it done. For they well knew that Atanalcar and his cronies would likewise try to dissuade the vote, instilling fear.

 

So it came to pass that the children of Finwë helped the report become institutionalized, but as was all in Elvenhome, it was a slow process. Atanalcar and those of like mind did all in their power to slow the process. Yet of late, the admission of women into trades previously barred to them, lent fire to those who wished to see more radical changes. As a result of this momentum, the Nolmëisse, which was where noble sons traditionally studied arts and letters, was opened to those outside the hereditary classes. And a very recent occurrence, the Nolmëisse had been opened to women, causing a quiet uproar amongst certain quarters. This was the quagmire of Noldorin politics that fed into the tumultuous time they now lived in.

 

Findekáno felt the eyes of Eruséro’s daughter, Eruanne, on him, he turned to offer her a smile, which caused the color to rise in the young maidens face. She hastily turned to look away from Findekáno, hoping he could not hear her heart beating wildly inside her. He did not have to hear it to know the emotions he instilled in her. Eruanne reminded him of Artanis, though her hair was dark, but like his cousin, like his sister, she stood tall and strong, even in her youth. “My lady,” Findekáno spoke to the young woman, “how long have you been assisting your father at the shop? I thought you were studying at the Nolmëisse?” Findekáno noticed the young maiden’s grip on what she held tighten, the blood draining from her hands.

 

Eruanne turned to face Findekáno, speaking as politely as possible. “I need to work to fund my studies my lord.”

 

Findekáno suppressed his surprise at the young woman’s declaration. Turno and Maitimo had overseen the appropriation monies to fund the new students’ expenditures at the Nolmëisse so these fees were indeed new, no doubt Atanalcar and his faction’s doing. “My lady,” Findekáno inquired, “if I may ask, and please pardon my ignorance, what are they requiring payment for?” Findekáno never regretted his station in life, nor turned from the duties that were his as a Prince of the Noldor, but at times like these he was reminded that he had been born to a different life than most.

 

Eruanne now searched Findekáno’s face openly. She knew he was not like other of the Noldor noble class that looked down their nose at her, but nevertheless she looked for arrogance, if only to know how her words would fall. “We must pay for our stay in the halls at Nolmëisse,” she answered. A defiant gleam in her eyes, she added, “My scholarship at Nolmëisse reflects not this extra work I carry.”

 

He replied, “While I was at Nolmëisse my time was spent solely in study. I do not think I would have been able to work and study, but then I was never counted amongst the most gifted. Even so, I do not believe the best among us then could have succeeded balancing work and study. My lady, you are a light among us. May I ask your permission to seek the end of this payment so required of you and your peers?” Findekáno’s expression was neutral, betraying not the blood rising like fire within him. Indeed Atanalcar and his ilk had found yet another way to subvert the work of Finwë.

 

She stuttered, “I, I did not ask this of you. I will pay as all are required.”

 

“You misunderstand me my lady, payment was never asked for when I attended. The Nolmëisse had only one burden: that those admitted keep to their task of study. Nothing more. It seems only fair that the Nolmëisse keep to its mandate as a public institution.”

 

“I see,” Eruanne replied, her face betraying the anger she felt for what Findekáno revealed. She understood what the implementation of payment was for: to rid the Nolmëisse of the likes of her. “Some have indicated I would benefit from switching to the trade schools, but I will not be run out my lord,” she offered, any pretense of formality or discretion dropped.

 

“No you shall not my lady.”

 

“Though you say you were not counted as the most gifted, I trust you are counted as worthy,” she continued, her back straight, her eyes set like stones-brave, intrepid woman!

 

“Ay, my lady, I am,” Findekáno answered. His eyes grew brighter, a warm smile graced his face. No wonder Eruséro spoke the unseen stars of his daughter! “You have my word. I only hope I can earn your personal trust for it would be grievous indeed if my worth in your eyes were diminished.”

 

It was entirely unfair, Eruanne thought to herself, entirely unfair that he could disarm her so. She bit her lower lip, willing her body to not deceive the butterflies that danced in her stomach. She was unlucky indeed! Unlucky the day the grandsons of the King stepped into her father’s shop. She inclined her head, daring to offer him a smile. Eruanne despised weakness. She was brave or foolhardy as some said. She would not hold her tongue: “Much have you done to have my trust. You are my voice in places I cannot speak, though I daresay even if I could speak I would not be heard.”

 

“Eruanne!” an anxious voice cried out from the entrance to the shop. “Civility is not your name!” It was Eruséro, who had stepped in to hear his daughter’s words with Findekáno.

 

Eruanne made to reply but thought the better of it, choosing silence.

 

Findekáno turned to face his friend, watching the interaction between father and daughter.

 

An anxious Eruséro turned to face Findekáno, but before he could apologize for his daughter’s words, Findekáno offered, “I am humbled she holds me in trust. She only speaks truth and you know that is what I value most.” As Findekáno spoke these last words he took Eruséro in an embrace.

 

“Well she is the most like me,” Eruséro replied, falling back into the easy rapport shared between them. Pulling back from Findekáno’s embrace Eruséro asked, “And to what do we owe this visit?”

 

Findekáno replied, “I am on my way to Ingormar’s bakery, but I could not pass this way and not say hello to a friend. I was glad to wait for you.”

 

“Then I am pleased you did not mind the wait. It is good to see you Findekáno. I have been more mobile of late, offering in-home repair services while Eruanne takes care of the shop.” This he did to earn the extra money needed to pay for Eruanne’s residency payment.

 

Findekáno noticed the small carpenter’s box still in his hands. He would spear Atanalcar, but Findekáno made no more mention of Eruséro’s work and his friend did not broach the topic. The two friends spoke, catching up, as Findekáno took the box out of Eruséro’s hands returning the tools to their rightful places. Eruanne excused herself, silently ascending the stairs at the rear of the carpenter’s shop that led to their home above. Eruséro was careful not ask too much about Maitimo. He knew the years of late had been full of grief for Findekáno. The rift between Fëanáro and his half-siblings had grown, the eldest sons of the Lords particularly vulnerable.

 

Soon the time to their visit drew to a close. The two said their goodbyes and Findekáno found himself walking down the narrow street to what many considered one of the best bakeries in Tirion. Ingormar and Ríne had the bakery since before Findekáno was born, but Findekáno found he had misjudged time, so lost in thought he had become. Findekáno had spent more time at Eruséro’s than he anticipated so he quickly made his selection, exchanging pleasantries, and soon enough was heading towards his parents home though his path took him further in the alleys and streets of Lower Tirion. He was taking the long path back. Findekáno, while in a hurry was not rushed.

 

Findekáno walked, considering the work ahead. He would need to speak to Turukáno soon, though not about Elenwë. Turukáno had the ear of important Vanyarin delegates, allies of Atanalcar, and Findekáno was aware that Turukáno was making ground with these men, these men who did not work the past, who had neatly boxed the past away for a glory of the present. This present, Findekáno contemplated, like the color of Tirion’s walls and streets, white, clean, absent of imperfection. _Not down here_ , he thought, observing the pathways that bore no gems gleaming under the waning light of Laurelin, favoring the rough cut of cobblestones, worn by the crowded steps of the very many. And this is what those men feared, men locked away in the heights of Tirion, that these men and women would enter the Halls of Knowledge and peel away the layers of words that concealed the early days.

 

Finwë did not forget. That was his gift. It was why he was King. Memory was his throne and with the present and an eye for the future he sought to guide the Noldor, for the Noldor did not well wear a King who would impose. This Finwë knew because he remembered. For this reason Findekáno committed every street, every home, every step to memory, so that one day he might remember and not forget. How could he not? Time was his ally. More importantly he remembered every face, every name, and the smells and the sounds of the work of those that sustained Tirion. The irony, Findekáno breathed, pausing to take in the smells of Lower Tirion was that Finwë’s children held the same convictions, the same desires, but their paths were markedly different. Findekáno, like Maitimo, and the other grandchildren of Finwë, little knew during this time how differently their fathers’ choices would mark them. Findekáno did not have the hindsight to see otherwise, to heal the discord and trauma that lay between Miriel and Indis’ children.

 

)()()()(

 

Findekáno smoothed the front of his sleeveless tunic, a simple linen weave of dark blue, worn over a cotton shirt, and simple loose fitting leggings. Around his waste a leather belt and on his wrists simple leather cuffs, belt and cuffs cut of the same leather. He wore his favorite leather boots, well worn, but not so worn that the leaves tooled into the leather were not visible, his hair was loosely bound by a copper hair cuff.

 

He slowed as he entered the courtyard, passing under the stone archway and into the green lawn surrounded by large oaks. The smell of his mother’s flowers greeted him, a collection of blue and white wild flowers that she had brought back from their rural home. A wild creek cut across the lawn that seemed more like a meadow, more carefully tended. Delicate stone bridges provided passage over the creek and soon enough Findekáno found himself on the path that widened, becoming more formal, imposing. Torches lined the path, fires burning brightly.

 

Findekáno bounded up the familiar stone stairs, taking three at a time, until he reached the terraced entry, the stone colonnade imposing, like sentries at guard, as he had imagined them as a child. The large oak doors with simple wrought iron transom were open, the soft light of the home spilling out into the silvering evening. As Findekáno passed into his family’s home his hand instinctively traced his father’s heraldic device carved into the door, a habit formed when he reached the height to trace the figure that to a young adolescent seemed imposing.

 

A familiar voice greeted him, more formally than he liked, “Hail Findekáno Astaldo Ñolofinwion!”

 

“Really Alcarcalimo, that is not necessary,” Findekáno replied to his father’s steward, stopping to embrace the man who had ever worked in service of his father. Alcarcalimo stiffened under Findekáno’s rowdy embrace. Findekáno snorted as he released the steward who looked him over carefully, scrutinizing every inch of Findekáno. He most certainly did not meet Alcarcalimo’s standards and the elder elf let him know, a grimace marring his fair face. “I hope you do not kiss Oselle goodnight with that face,” Findekáno replied offhandedly.

 

Alcarcalimo turned his face to further scrutinize Findekáno, ignoring his snide remark. “I would ask you for your cloak but I see you do not have one.” His mouth was pursed, not hiding his displeasure at Findekáno’s uncivilized appearance.

 

“Dear Alcarcalimo! Why would I wear a cloak when I would prefer to walk naked such is the heat on this day!” Findekáno gifted Alcarcalimo with his most dazzling smile, but it fell as if against a marble wall.

 

“Your family is dining in the conservatory gardens,” Alcarcalimo replied, expertly ignoring Findekáno’s mischief. He looked at the packages tucked under Findekáno’s arms, silently indicating Findekáno relieve himself of them.

 

Findekáno handed him the bread, careful to add, “That is my father’s favorite. Do not think of hiding it away. And this stays with me,” he added indicating the delicately packaged candles.

 

Alcarcalimo nodded his head in understanding. Walking ahead and pausing, as Findekáno did not follow.

 

“Lead the way,” an exasperated Findekáno answered, never able to get a rise out of the steward. Alcarcalimo turned, straightening his back, though to Findekáno it seemed impossible that Alcarcalimo could get any straighter. With much grace, Alcarcalimo led Findekáno through his parent’s home. Findekáno did not realize nor had his mother told him that the evening’s meal was a more formal affair. Not that it would have changed what Findekáno wore, but he might have anticipated Alcarcalimo’s presence. Though Findekáno did not find such servants necessary he had been shamed early in his youth when he dared challenge his father on the employment of Alcarcalimo and others in Nolofinwë’s house. Nolofinwë schooled the young man, asking him where men and women like Alcarcalimo were supposed to go or do if their skills lay at serving lords. Youthful Findekáno retorted that they should learn more useful skills. Nolofinwë had to restrain himself, asking Findekáno to consider whether he should abandon Alcarcalimo who had ever been like a father to him, Alcarcalimo who loved Nolofinwë as a son of his own.

 

Findekáno whispered behind Alcarcalimo, remembering the words his father had shared: “Such fealty is a rare gift _yonya_ , my son, and fealty with love is the worth of the finest gem.”

 

Alcarcalimo smiled, his eyes were bright. Findekáno could not see his face, and it was in moments such as these that Alcarcalimo let the walls witness the love he had for the children of Nolofinwë. They made their way through the formal dining salon and out onto a large veranda that spilled down the steep hillside and down meandering stairs onto a smaller lawn that housed the conservatory, an elegant structure of stone, glass, and wood. Many of the glass walls were opened, allowing for a gentle breeze to cool the conservatory. Within it, the lawn continued, more verdant. At one end, a stone sculpture fountain--a gift from Nerdanel-- offered the soft music of water spilling into a pool. Potted trees and flowers marked the pathway into the conservatory. Lanterns of living flowers and vines hung down gracefully from the ceilings, soft crystal lamps of glowing light, ensconced within.

 

Alcarcalimo paused at the entrance and stood aside as Findekáno went in to meet his family.

 

“Astaldo!” Anairë greeted her son, rising from her seat.

 

Findekáno kissed his mother, “Ama,” he replied in simple greeting, offering her the carefully wrapped gift.  Anairë unwrapped the item revealing the candle. “My love this is beautiful. Thank you my heart!” she spoke, embracing her son.

 

Nolofinwë watched his son enter noticing his hurried, nervous steps, his stiffness in giving his mother her gift. Finwë’s second son missed nothing. He was renown for his keen observation skills. Those going before his father knew they could not betray their intent with as much of a flinch for hawkish Nolofinwë would see it.

 

“Atto,” Findekáno next greeted his father who had also risen to hug his son.

 

“Yonya,” Nolofinwë replied, embracing and kissing his son. Nolofinwë motioned for Findekáno to sit next to him and Irissë. Findekáno hesitated, this was a meeting he was not looking forward to. Again his father noticed his son’s reluctance. Nolofinwë glanced at his daughter and caught her scowling at Findekáno. _Hmm,_ he thought to himself, _what could have_ _Irissë so angry with her brother?_

Irissë did not stand to greet Findekáno as he clumsily bent down to kiss her cheek.

 

“Irissë!” Anairë scolded her daughter, “find your manners with your háno [brother].”

 

Irissë crossed her arms and firmly set herself in her chair letting out a most unladylike curse word.

 

Nolofinwë chastised her. “Now Irissë enough with your sulkiness. Why are you cross with your brother?”

 

“Ask him,” Irissë snorted.

 

Findekáno took his seat, not daring to turn and find Irissë’s eyes boring into him, exposing his inappropriate behavior. He knew not the extent of Irissë’s suspicions, but clearly they were developed enough for her to be quite angry at him.

 

Anairë, quick to deduce the problem, replied, “Enough Irissë. I will hear no more from you and Astaldo. And Astaldo, sit up; your slouching is not hiding you. Whatever it is between the two of you it ends here.”

 

The two managed to look contrite. Nolofinwë informed them that Lalwen and Eärnur would be there shortly, hoping that whatever the problem between his children they could at least enjoy dinner.

 

Alcarcalimo had witnessed the scene and sensing a need for distraction, presented the bread that Findekáno brought, though it was now served on an elegant platter. “My lord, from your son,” he announced, placing the bread near the center of the table.”

 

Nolofinwë‘s eyes lit up, “From Ingormar and Ríne’s bakery. How divine! Thank you Findekáno!” Nolofinwë had his hands on the bread tearing large chunks off, greedily stuffing them into his mouth.

 

“Aracáno!” Anairë cried out, lightly hitting her husband on the arm.

 

Nolofinwë simply offered his wife a cheeky grin amongst mouthfuls of the bread.

 

“Do not worry ama,” Findekáno offered, “I brought enough.”

 

“Thank Eru you did. I do not believe we will have any of the loaf we have here!” Anairë giggled as Nolofinwë made a great show of moving the bread in front of him and savoring it as he stuffed it in his mouth. For this Anairë gifted him a kiss on the cheek.

 

Irissë mumbled, “Don’t encourage him ama. He’ll start chewing on you next.”

 

Findekáno snorted, the choice of his sister’s words suspect.

 

Nolofinwë did not skip a beat, “Your ama is tasty.”

 

“Aracáno!” Anairë cried out, finding herself repeating her husband’s name in exasperation.

 

Nolofinwë reached over and quickly kissed his wife, which caused her to laugh. Nolofinwë lingered near his wife, whispering only words she could hear. His long, undulating dark hair seductively fell onto Anairë’s décolletage. The two made quite the match, beautiful, tall: of the Noldor.

 

Nolofinwë was indeed tall, broad of chest, the same color of honey as Finwë and Findekáno, his eyes the bright blue of Indis. His legs were well formed, muscular, betraying his love of running and hiking into the heights of the Pelori’s. Anairë was tall, lithe, but strong, pale as snow that did not fall in Eldamar, her upturned eyes the blue-grey common to the Noldor. Her lips full and her black hair, long and silky straight, but not so straight it would not hold a curl.

 

Findekáno was truly his father’s son, finely chiseled cheekbones set high, strong of nose, and broad of chest, alike in build, with bright blue eyes, but unlike Nolofinwë, his lips were full and his hair straight, like his mother. Irissë strongly resembled her mother, pale of skin, blue-grey eyes, but her hair was her father’s. She was a terrible beauty, the White Lady of the Noldor—terrible because she shunned most suitors that fell at her feet, so it was whispered.

 

Irissë rolled her eyes, accustomed to her parents’ displays. “The lot of you is mad and inappropriate. Oh and look here are aunt and uncle. Welcome _onónëamil_ and _onónëatar_ , welcome and complete the madhouse.”

 

“Oh dear, what have I missed,” Lalwen replied as she and Eärnur sat at the table. “Hugs and kisses later, we are famished,” Lalwen continued motioning for the servers to bring them wine. Eärnur, as was typical, offered quiet hellos and smiles, and said not much. Nolofinwë always remarked that for a man of words Eärnur was certainly stingy with those he spoke to which his children would always roll their eyes and grunt in disapproval. Nolofinwë was nothing if not predictable.

 

The group settled into their normal interactions over dinner, pausing to chat about the mundane. Irissë and Findekáno fell into more familiar conversations. More serious conversations were reserved for the digestif that was being served-a strong liquor made of distilled wine, aged in oak barrels.

 

“This is the single distilled _suhto_ [drink]?” Lalwen asked.

 

Nolofinwë nodded his head, “Yes. Findekáno and I aged this in black oak barrels. How long did we age this batch Findekáno?”

 

“Ten years,” Findekáno answered, as he dipped his finger in his glass, dabbing the liquor on the back of his hand, waiting for the alcohol to evaporate. Once dried, he raised the back of his hand to inhale the complex aromas of the _suhto._

 

“My, my, that gives quite the Valar’s share,” Lalwen replied, as she held the flute at chest level, smelling the bouquet, gently warming the _suhto_ as she cradled the glass in her hand [3].

 

Eärnur took a small sip, rolling the _suhto_ deliberately in his mouth, the flavor warming and growing. “Simply delicious!” he exclaimed.

 

A surprised Nolofinwë raised an eyebrow at his brother in law’s uncharacteristic exclamation. “Thank you Eärnur,” Nolofinwë replied raising his glass to his brother.

 

Anairë raised her glass, adding, “To _nossenya_ , my family.”

 

The gathered elves raised their glasses, sharing their approval.

 

The silver night wore on as the group sipped the _suhto_ , a drink made for contemplation.

 

“Atto, _onónëami,_ ” Findekáno spoke to his father and aunt. “I visited with Eruséro earlier this evening and there I spoke with his daughter, Eruanne, who is studying at the Nolmëisse.”

 

Lalwen’s eyes lit up. “She is with the first class of the open Nolmëisse, is she not?” Lalwen asked referring to the first group of students admitted to the Nolmëisse not from the noble ranks.

 

“She is,” Findekáno answered, “and we are lucky for it. She is quite extraordinary, but that is beside the point. A new fee has been put in place requiring students to pay for housing at the Nolmëisse. She must work with her _atto_ to help pay the fee.”

 

Lalwen’s face grew cold. “Atanalcar,” she replied dryly.

 

“I assume,” Findekáno responded.

 

Nolofinwë was looking thoughtfully at his son, measuring, planning, his next move. Finally, he offered, “The edict of free schooling must come from Ingwë.”

 

“And why not grandfather?” Irissë asked.

 

Lalwen, looking at her brother, watching him as his thoughts betrayed his calculations, replied, “Because Atanalcar will seek another way. He sees your grandfather’s will as that of his _sons_.” Clearly this last bit was distasteful to Lalwen, the word “sons” dripped with irony.

 

Nolofinwë nodded his head, his eyes looking beyond as if seeing an event that had not yet unfolded. “Yes sister, indeed. Atanalcar will be bound by Ingwë’s edict and any machinations from him will be seen as going against the High King.”

 

Irissë asked, curious to how this move would play out in the complex web of Noldorin politics. “Will this not raise the ire of others who rankle at anything coming from Ingwë?”

 

Anairë interjected, “It will indeed Irissë, but these damn nobles are too invested in their station to risk the appearance of calling for something more drastic.”

 

“And Fëanáro?” Findekáno asked, knowing that his eldest uncle might bristle at what he would perceive as a Vanyarin intrusion.

 

“Do you still have the ear of Nelyafinwë?” Lalwen asked Findekáno.

 

Irissë snorted unfittingly, whispering so all could hear, “He has more than that.”

 

Nolofinwë almost spit out the _suhto_. Anairë silently chastised her daughter, glowering at her with her cold grey eyes.

 

Eärnur chuckled, earning the attention of all gathered. Staring intently at the green stone hung on a silver chain around Findekáno’s neck, he cleared his throat and recited:

 

_“No specious splendour of this stone_

_Endears it to my memory ever;_

_With lustre only once it shone,_

_And blushes modest as the giver._

_Some, who can sneer at friendship’s ties,_

_Have, for my weakness, oft reprov’d me;_

_Yet still the simple gift I prize,_

_For I am sure, the giver lov’d me._

_He offer’d it with downcast look,_

_As fearful that I might refuse it;_

_I told him, when the gift I took,_

_My only fear should be, to lose it._

_This pledge attentively I view’d,_

_And sparkling as I held it near,_

_Methought one drop the stone bedew’d,_

_And, ever since, I’ve lov’d a tear...” [4]_

Silence. The table was silent. Not one elf dared to breathe. Finally Findekáno broke the silence, offering a broken: “Thank you?” Knowing not whether his uncle’s words were a tribute or something more sinister.

 

Lalwen placed her hand over her heart, “My love, your words move me.”

Eärnur bowed his head, acknowledging his lover’s complement. “I am moved by love, and most of all by the most impossible of love.” This time Eärnur raised his glass, “A toast to love and possibility for it is made of the fabric of Eä.”

 

Findekáno raised his glass, answering boldly, “To love,” now more sure that Eärnur was daring to acknowledge and celebrate his and Maitimo’s special relationship.

 

Nolofinwë followed suit, raising his glass, eyeing Eärnur more suspiciously and glancing at Findekáno, an unspoken topic was being brought to the fore, well as much as it could be.

 

Anairë and Irissë too raised their glasses, and the group toasted in unison, “To love.” Each person reflected on their own inner turmoil, their own estrangement or involvement with love, its fires and passions, its pain and sorrow. It was a deeply personal mood broken only by Alcarcalimo’s perceptive words: “May I clear the table?”

 

“Please,” Nolofinwë replied, his private reverie tucked neatly back into the deep recesses of thought.

 

Slowly the gathered elves began speaking of the political dilemma that awaited them. Finally, Anairë announced, “I am retiring. Findekáno will you escort me?”

 

Without answering Findekáno stood and went to his mother’s side looping his arm in hers.

 

“Please stay well into the night. The _suhto_ requires it,” Anairë gently but firmly directed her words, mostly at her husband.

 

Lalwen, sensing that mother and son needed time alone, replied, “I intend to keep these three occupied well into the mingling of the light.”

 

“I almost forgot!” Findekáno exclaimed as he ran back to the table and gifted his aunt with the gift he earlier acquired from the candlemaker.

 

Lalwen quickly opened the package revealing the candle. “Beautiful, my son. Thank you,” she kissed Findekáno, then pushing him back towards his mother. “Meet me for lunch tomorrow love.”

 

Findekáno nodded his head in agreement as he ran back to catch up to his mother who was ascending the stairs into the elegant villa.

 

)()()()(

 

Anairë and Findekáno retired into his parent’s personal sitting room. Findekáno busied himself with building a fire in the stone chimney. The silver night had chilled, the breezes bringing the cold from the heights of the mountains to the tops of Túna. The fire grew large, casting a warm glow on Findekáno, the black of his hair greedily drinking up the light, casting its own seductive shimmer. Anairë watched her eldest, her Astaldo, beautiful and charming, bold and kind, but love had come through difficult paths for him. She had only desired that love find him easy.

 

She had gone to Indis asking for her help when it became clear that the only love her Astaldo would keep next to him was that of Maitimo. Together they prayed, asked for the hand of the divine to intercede on their behalf, a choice not taken lightly for such requests have consequences the asker may not first perceive. They asked that the love of a maiden be put on Findekáno’s path, one that he would not turn away, that he could return, one that might possibly offer marriage and children.

 

The Valar had answered them, but it was a cruel fate, she thought, cruel that the maiden put on his path was Elenwë, Turukáno’s beloved. For this she blamed herself as only a mother can. What if she had not asked for such profound and sacred aid? Alas, she was overcome with remorse, wondering if she was not being herself punished for thinking the song of Eru, the melody of Astaldo and Maitimo, wrong.

 

A knock at the door interrupted Anairë’s thoughts. “Enter,” Anairë answered, her voice almost lost in the roar of the fire.

 

Oselle carefully opened the door, bringing in two glasses and a bottle of _suhto._ “Lalwen sent word to bring this to you.”

 

“Of course,” Anairë replied, knowing Lalwen recognized that _suhto_ would make whatever conversation was to be had easier to manage. Lalwen was always a step ahead of everyone.  Oselle placed the bottle and drinks on the low table set near the chimney, stealing a glance at Findekáno who knelt by the fire, lost in its flames. She wanted to reach out and take his face in hers, bring him close and comfort him. She knew of Anairë’s supplications to the Valar. She thought them unwise. After all Oselle had been born on the other side, the Outer Lands, knowing that one had to be careful of such requests. The Valar were not purposeful in their answer. It was more like a thought that created a possibility and once that thought came into being it had many paths, paths that the Valar could not themselves foresee.

 

Oselle poured the _suhto_ in the glasses offering a glass to Anairë and Findekáno. Findekáno rewarded her with his brilliant smile. Her heart broke, her little Findekáno now grown and weary with the weight of the world. Oselle was afraid of what would happen between the brothers. She had wanted to hate Elenwë, but truly it was not the girl’s fault. Women have a way of finding themselves between brothers, and little could Elenwë know that fate set her path to him, to Findekáno. Oselle was at the house that fateful night, saw the lovers enter the house, lost in each other. She said nothing, letting herself out quietly, but when she returned the following morning, the drawn and weary lines reflected on Anairë’s fair features revealed that Anairë too had witnessed the betrayal of one son by another. Oselle believed that perhaps Anairë feared that the same bitterness and estrangement would come between her sons as it had most openly with the sons of Finwë. Oselle feared this too.

 

“Thank you Oselle.” Anairë spoke, sharing a brief smile with her. Quietly, Oselle let herself out and closed the doors behind her. Only time, of which they were blessed with, would see this story out.

 

“Astaldo,” Anairë spoke ending the silence between mother and son. “Come, sit next to me _yonya._ ”

 

Findekáno stood, sipping on the _suhto_ , passing the delectable liquor over his tongue, swallowing slowly. He made his way across the room, sitting besides his mother. Anairë, put her arms around him, moving him closer to her. Findekáno laid his head on her shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath. There was no more hiding from it.  Anairë gently ran her fingers through his hair, offering comfort, seeking it for herself as her fingers felt the familiar silk slipping through her fingers. She kissed the top of his head, burying her nose, inhaling the scent of her child, the smell of only him--unique--her first-born. She gathered him in her arms, protective, willing fate to leave them be.

 

“Tell me your thoughts my love,” Anairë whispered, as if she was afraid her words would carry the secret outside the walls of the room.

 

Findekáno’s words caught in his throat, emotions threatening to overcome him. “Ama,” he finally spoke, his voice raw with feeling. “I do not know. I keep thinking on it and I do not know.”

 

Anairë was similarly unsure how to tread, not knowing what it was she sought. “What of her feelings?”

 

“She loves me.”

 

The weight of Findekáno’s confession hit her like a tempest erupting from calm skies.

 

Findekáno felt and heard his mother’s sharp intake of breath in reaction to his revelation. As if to assuage her, he added, “But she loves Turno, loves him more.” Hearing himself speak these words, Findekáno revealed something to himself. He let out a soft cry. She loved Turno more and it was then that he realized this mattered to him, it mattered. But how? How had his heart been set on this path? How could he desire the love of two? “

 

“Oh _yonya_ ,” Anairë whispered, her heart breaking.

 

“Ama it is as if this is a story of someone else’s life and I have accidently stepped into it.” Findekáno’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. He was not ashamed to cry, but he feared that once his tears fell they would not stop.

 

Anairë caught her breath, a deep pain swelled in her chest. _Fool_ , she thought to herself, _you have brought this upon your son, upon your sons._ There was no escaping the certainty of that now. Anairë, though was nothing if not stubborn and protective. She sought now for ways to undo, to protect her children. “What of Maitimo?” she dared ask. “Do you not love him?”

 

“Ama?” Findekáno asked in surprise. Surely after all this time, she was not asking this of him now.

 

Anairë’s mind was set. “What of Maitimo, Findekáno?”

 

Hearing the finality of her tone, Findekáno sighed, sitting up, choosing his words carefully. “There is love between us.” He paused, “A deep love, but we, we cannot...” He stopped searching for how to reveal his deepest feelings. “Much has come between us. Maitimo is of his father’s mind and I follow mine.”

 

“Do you love him as I love your atto?” Anairë asked, unsure how to pull Findekáno’s thoughts into words.

 

“I do not believe I know that type of love, but I would die for him. I would follow him to the end of Arda.”

 

The weight of Findekáno’s words hung between them. Anairë was caught by surprise. Would she follow Nolofinwë to the ends of the world? Quickly she tossed these thoughts aside. Now was not the time for that. “And what of Elenwë, would you give your life for her?”

 

“I would,” Findekáno quickly replied, the words spilling out, but little could the two know that his sentiments, though true, suggested a path that had not yet revealed itself. “Though I cannot say if I was asked to choose between the two that I would forsake Maitimo.”

 

“And what of Turno, what do you want for him?” Anairë asked.

 

“I want his joy, his happiness and if that is Elenwë then that is what I want for him, but only if he makes her as joyful as she does him.”

 

“I see,” Anairë replied, the biggest choice was laid before Elenwë then. Anairë did not believe that Turno would turn Elenwë away, even if he found out. She knew her youngest son, his tender heart, but she also knew it was grieved for Turno had loved another but could not make himself surmount the obstacles to be with her. The irony, Anairë considered, was that Turno would ultimately embrace Elenwë only because he truly understood that in love choices are made; yet a choice is only a start. This grieved her for it meant that Findekáno would only have more hurt. Not only would he have to bear the grief of a next to impossible love, but he would see one he was growing to love pledge herself to his brother. Anairë had condemned her eldest to a strange fate, but she was not weak. She would fight to find joy for Findekáno.

 

“I will leave it up to you whether you choose to tell Turno,” Anairë offered her son, “but I will speak with your father. There are no secrets between us and I will not let this be the first.”

 

“Ama, no!” Findekáno retorted.

 

“No, Astaldo, your _atto_ will hear me and he will speak to you I am sure, but he will respect your privacy in the matter.”

 

“But this means that you must both accept Elenwë in your home and continue to treat her as before,” Findekáno replied, knowing this would be difficult for his parents.

 

“Indeed we will Astaldo. This will be more difficult for your father. I think I understand Elenwë after all.”

 

“How so?” Findekáno asked, surprised by his mother’s sympathies for Elenwë.

 

“I was once young too and I made choices.” Anairë revealed.

 

“Who?” Findekáno inquired, his mother’s revelations intriguing and disturbing. Again he was reminded that his parents were imperfect, making questionable choices, subject to the same passions and desires. In his youth Findekáno saw his parents as beyond reproach, but he, like all, grew to see his mother and father as two people that made a life together, had children, and did the best they could.

 

“That tale is for another time,” Anairë answered. “But it reminds me that much of what we pass off as the customs of courtship, of love, are ridiculously manufactured.” Anairë laughed, a bitter tone coloring her voice. She continued, “You would think that love, as songs and stories tell, is a dispassionate affair, slow to come, building like mountain deep from its roots. That love is a simple choice alone. But love, my son, is also fate and fire. While we choose, what is little told is that those choices alone will not carry us for as long as we are bound to Arda. No, a love that can sustain us is tumultuous and fate filled, a rapid burning fire that we must feed, keep kindled or its embers die out. Though our lives seem eternal it is that same strange fate that makes us love so brightly so vigorously for we must fill the length of time with this love.”

 

Anairë gently took hold of Findekáno’s face, willing his pain spent. She looked at him with earnest eyes. “A simple choice will not do. Our love is dangerous and wild though they--these men who wield power-- wish to tame it for if they succeed they can shape us until we longer recognize our true selves. What you have with Maitimo however strained is Eru’s design. Of this I am sure now. It is original love; a love that challenges us and reminds us that we are the Quendi. Never forget.” _Forgive me my son_. These last thoughts she kept to herself. Sooner or later, Findekáno too would know of her part in this tale.

 

)()()()(  
TBC  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I believe Ecthelion and Egalmoth are Sindarin names. I didn’t bother giving them a quenya name, sorry.
> 
> [2]Nolmëisse- Fine Arts/Liberal Arts type school, training ground for leaders
> 
> [3] Valar’s share is the “angel’s tribute,” a term used to describe the amount of alcohol and water that evaporates in the aging process of liquor. In this case Armagnac, which in my mind is superior to Cognac, and so drinkable!  
> [4] The poem Eärnur recites is Lord Byron’s The Cornelian.


	5. Halda-the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this latest chapter we travel to Alqualondë and find out more about "the other woman." Of course, the story is more complicated than one would first imagine. We also find out more about the diverse belief systems that exist in Aman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **List of Names** :
> 
> Angaráto-Angrod  
> Aikanáro -Aegnor  
> Findekáno/Káno/Astaldo - Fingon  
> Nelyafinwë /Maitimo/Russandol/Nelyo -Maedhros  
> Sarafinwë /Turukáno/Turno/Saire-Turgon  
> Arafinwë-Finarfin  
> Nolofinwë-Fingolfin
> 
> Unbeta’d. Apologies for the mistakes I miss.

**Chapter 5: Halda-The Veil**

 

 

Almáriel watched the waves crash on the shore, retreat, crash again, the sound spellbinding. It was early light, though in Alqualondë it seemed to be eternal twilight, yet the golden light of Laurelin reached its tendrils to break on the water. They were outside the walls of Alqualondë, camped on the beach in splendorous tents of canvas that lined the white beach that glittered with silver and white gems. The banners of the many Noldorin houses encamped fluttered in the soft light.

 

Turukáno and other Noldorin nobles participated in the seasonal sailing races. Though one would expect the Falmari to easily claim superiority as people of the sea, the spirit of _maeth_ [battle] was strongest amongst the Noldor and Angaráto and Ambaráto lent their skill to the Noldorin crew. After all, Angaráto and Ambaráto, sons of Arafinwë and Eärwen, spent much time in King Olwë’s house, father of Eärwen, thus gifted in the sport of water. But truth be told while the Noldorin ships were first to arrive at their destination, the Telerin sailors were waylaid by the waves, the pleasure they found in catching the wind-- their sailboats leaping into the air--not as much concerned with who arrived first. They enjoyed sailing not for sport but for joy. The Noldor knew this yet they too found pleasure, found pleasure in claiming victory over the ocean route chartered for the races, bettering themselves, mastering the art of sailing. To see the styles and skills of the two against one another was to see an aspect of the differences between Teleri and Noldor.

 

The races were concluded. Almáriel enjoyed the races, but she was sure to keep her distance from some of the Noldorin nobles who made the trip, knowing their thoughts on her. The front of the tent was open to the shore. She was wrapped in a sheet, her dark hair loose providing her warmth against the marine chill of Alqualondë. Turukáno had not yet awoken. His long, well shaped form stretched out next to her. He hated sleeping with anything over him, no matter how cold. His black hair was knotted and messy, draped across his face, his nose and lips the only part of his face she could see. Of all the men she had been with Turukáno was the one she considered bonding to, but it was not to be.

 

This trip was their last moment together, but Almáriel did not feel sorry for herself or spill tears for what could have been. It was a strange fate, to find herself so drawn to this elf, really but a child in the count of time. She laughed softly. She was older than his parents, born on the other side, across the veil. Some whispered that her mother was unwilling to come, only daring to make the Great Journey to follow her greatest love. He gave her a child, but did not bond with her, not such a rarity in those early days. Almáriel was but a child when she made the journey. She knew her father little. He married and busied himself in the making of the Noldorin noble class. He crossed the veil and truly never returned.

 

Turukáno loved her too, but it was not enough. He made a choice, a choice that she could not respect for he let some invented story of virtue lead his path. Yet when he came looking for her, asking her for one last moment together, she did not turn him away. She would greedily take whatever she could even though she knew many would speak her name in disdain. After all, she was the ice maiden of Tirion who broke from convention, was whispered about, feared by maidens, and desired by men and a few women. The damn lot of them invented a grand story for her: _be careful, watchful of your man or_ _Almáriel will steal him away, put him under a spell. They say she practices the unnatural magic of the Outerlands still. She’s a witch, a temptress_. _She waylays righteous noble men putting them under a spell. Whore_.

 

She’d heard worse. She was not the only of her kind, the _Halda_ , the Veiled ones who made the Great Journey, who adhered to the beliefs, the ritual, also known as _Halda,_ from the time of Awakening- the _Cuivienyarna_ as it was, not as it was retold.* It was said the _Halda_ brought mist and shadow, tainted the Blessed Realm. Of the three clans _Halda_ as a belief system was most prominent amongst the Teleri and the Noldor, but it was lost to the Vanyar. Almáriel was a _Haldanur_ , servant and keeper of the Veil and for this she suffered much grief. Suspicion was laid at her feet, and she was feared.

 

And yet Turukáno did not believe a word of the fabricated stories. Of course he would not. He was of Finwë’s house, the King who bonded with two women, another tale not unheard of, but to hear the stories told, well it was a sin. She knew Finwë’s children well, a beautiful lot with too much desire and fire in their hearts. They were made of the same stone as she and it appeared, made to suffer in the new world the Calaquendi carved out in Aman, an order built on the desires of a few men to control. She was most intrigued by the grandchildren of Finwë, so many of them, scandalous in its time, to display so forthrightly the physical bonds that joined bonded couples. And strange and fey they remained, some said too secret and sinful.

 

Turukáno chose another, a very young maiden. How could he do otherwise? Almáriel was silly to think he would choose to make his life with her, but here he was resplendent in the afterglow of their lovemaking, a lovemaking so bold and uninhibited even the Valar blushed at the licentiousness. Indeed, the Noldorin Princes were powerful--and notorious--because they wielded this power earning the ire and envy of those that covered their bodies in shame. The daughters too were strong and intrepid, choosing desire but feeling no need to hand themselves over to a House of men. This generation of Noldor had a different fire about them. The shift, Almáriel felt, was coming. She saw it burning openly in Fëanáro’s eyes, and it was there too in Nolofinwë’s, though he tempered his. The fire of _Halda_ was calling to them, seeking them to return.

 

In her home, Findekáno and Maitimo had found privacy, the ability to love freely as dictated by _Halda_ , though both knew that declaring their rights through _Halda_ was not possible _._ Indeed, as Noldorin Princes they were bound to more confining beliefs.Anairë was a believer of _Halda,_ a child of the veil, but she had grown distant of it in her desires to make peace with Indis. Of all of Indis’s children Nolofinwë and Írimë were strong in spirit of _Halda_. Findis and Arafinwë were not, though Arafinwë was dispassionate about such things, tending more to _Nolmë_ , the colder knowledge of science and philosophy. Fëanáro on the other hand was a fire spirit of _Halda,_ a true son of Miriel, one of the wise of the old ways, but her death was like doom for those of the _Halda_ , making way for the _Valadur_ , those who only had room for the Valar and saw any other beliefs and practices as an affront, the mark of primitivity. 

 

Finwë was personal in his beliefs, speaking and acting on behalf of both, but times were changing. His marriage to Indis suggested as much. Yet she was of like mind to Finwë, believing the two could coexist. Finwë would not have married her otherwise. If only Turukáno more openly held his father’s and his grandfather’s convictions, but Turukáno was much more like Arafinwë, not touched by the passions of the veil in the way his eldest brother manifested, yet their lovemaking revealed otherwise.

 

It was on one occasion that Findekáno brought Turukáno to visit Almáriel that they met formally, the beginning of a fiery affair, a courtship of sorts. He was quiet and reserved, unlike his elder brother, but she saw that the same fire burned in him, that same desire to aspire to things beyond what was allowed. In the end Turukáno turned to _nolmë_ , though Almáriel knew that this could not alone sustain him. He burned brighter than that.

 

Alqualondë. Almáriel would always remember her last days spent with him. She did love him, her Noldorin Prince. A groaning sound next to her pulled her out of her meditative state. Turukáno’s eyes fluttered open, a lazy smile claiming his face as he awoke to the vision of Almáriel, a wild beauty- his twilight. With one hand he swept his long, dark hair aside, letting it fall over his broad back as he rose to sit on the bed they shared. He was a vision. Almáriel studied him, committing every detail to memory: his broad back, muscles that rippled underneath fair skin: unmarred, perfect. He was tall, though not poorly proportioned like some poor fellow whose legs or torso were too long or figure to thin to carry such a height. His blue-grey eyes were observing her, his growing desire turning them almost black.

 

“Sarafinwë,” Almáriel whispered in his ear, using his mother name. Before she could speak more Turukáno picked her up from where she sat next to him hoisting her on top of him. Almáriel gasped, Turukáno’s strength was an aphrodisiac. With his hand he quickly guided himself into her, provoking a cry from his lover, not of pain but of pleasure and fire, but he could not contain his fire. He grew impatient. He needed all his strength to drive into her, drive as deep as her desire, her body would allow. He rose on his knees continuing to move in her, the feel of him slipping in and out of her, the friction of body against body, driving him to that place, that edge where his passions would blind him. He held her close to him as he flipped her onto her backside and with one move he thrust hard into her. She felt his fire. With her he could lose himself completely, to the fire that consumed him. Together their bodies raged, loved, and sacrificed for that momentary and ephemeral instant that sex brings.

 

)()()()(

 

Maitimo allowed his horse to meander along the steep path that led to his parents’ home. The horse stopped here and there to nibble on sweet grasses as Maitimo watched the waters of the Bay dance in the twilight, the light of Laurelin trailing behind him. He was lost in memory. He remembered earlier times, better times, simpler times when the bonds of friendship and fealty between them were innocent; as innocent as such a love is allowed to be…

 

_Maitimo stood at the edge of the crowd as_ _Findekáno was presented to the court. Findekáno’s thick, raven hair that he wore loose-- apart from the two plaits woven with threads of gold -- fell just above his waist. Findekáno made his way across the Great Hall of the Noldóran, acknowledging those he dared spy at the margins of his sight with a graceful nod. He was a vision, a vision only for Maitimo. Certainly all could see his beauty, but only Maitimo was witness to the birth of something different, the glowing golden and silver light in his eyes revealing a new yearning._

_When beauty reveals itself in such a way, like a flower greeting the golden light of Laurelin, it possesses a quality of innocence. Yet that innocence quickly passes into something more, something like fire. Now there was danger. What was the impulsiveness and recklessness of_ _Findekáno’s youth would become a calling, honed also by his goodness, his fire, and his wisdom. Here was Findekáno, his bright blue eyes anticipating the moment when adulthood bubbles forth in eager study, no longer just a hint of manhood. Gone was the boy who haphazardly threw on whatever he could easiest find. Here was a man who understood the power of presence, the power of his beauty, and was wielding it as he had seen and been taught, though at times he had rejected this path; but not on this night._

_As_ _Findekáno bowed before his grandfather, his King, and his uncle, the High King, a hush fell over the crowd. Finwë spoke, asking Findekáno to rise. Indis came forward with a wreath made of evergreen, symbol of strength: the ancient symbol of the second clan. Delicately woven in the evergreen sprigs of the wreath were golden flowers symbols of conviction and fertility, emblematic of the House of Ingwë and Indis of the first clan. Gently she placed the wreath upon him, speaking quietly, with much love, “_ Na i ahië ya meril cenë ambaressë _, be the change you wish to see in the world,_ _Findekáno Astaldo Nolofinwion.”_

_Ingwë announced, “The line of the Noldóran is blessed until the end of days. We here receive you N_ _olofinwion so named Findekáno by your father, Astaldo by your mother.”_

_Finwë spoke next. “May the names that come to you be as worthy of a valiant son, noble and true, and kind in spirit. Now a leader to us all,_ aryon _[heir] you shall be. The blessings of all the clans upon you.”_

_Findekáno was overwhelmed. The words of his Kings awoke something in him, a stirring of an ancient bond, first oaths spoken into darkness. Indis whispered so only Findekáno could hear, “Now turn and greet your people.”_

_Findekáno turned. His face lit up as those he loved most smiled brightly, pride and joy reflected on their radiant faces. The crowd hailed Findekáno, “_ Alla! Alla, cundu _, blessed be thou, Prince!” Their voices were strong, carrying to the whole of Tirion. Yes he would serve his people, and in his mind he heard a distant chorus of voices sing:_ _“His valour was as a fire and yet steadfast as the hills of stone; wise he was and skilled in voice and hand; troth and justice he loved and bore good will to all…” [1]. In that moment Findekáno heard beyond the veil, beyond time. From shadow, light was born, and the strength of foresight was kindled, the magic of_ Halda _, the wisdom beyond the veil._

_Indis, sensing_ _Findekáno was overwhelmed by emotion and something more, looped her arm though her grandson’s escorting him to the high table, to sit with the Kings. The blue hue of Findekáno’s velvet robe, spun from the twin qualities of virtue and pleasure, like the colors of his father’s house, but darker and bolder, now the colors of what was the potentiality of the House of Findekáno. Those that knew what to look for witnessed the glimmer of Awakening upon him, another child--another son--to protect the people_ …

 

Maitimo opened his eyes, the vision of Findekáno fading. Their bonds had been innocent and easy during those times. Now the murmurs and gossip of Tirion, indeed of a people was coming between them. If he were honest with himself, and Maitimo certainly was honest when reflecting, their loyalty and love to their fathers was driving a distance between them that was quickly becoming insurmountable. Though he had not opened himself up in such a manner for some time, Maitimo allowed his senses to drift out into the vastness of the world about him, seeking him. In this moment, Maitimo needed to be reassured that despite this gulf, their ties remained. In his mind he felt a warmth grow, a glimmer of blues and whites took shape in his mind’s eye, radiating, constant: Astaldo.

 

)()()()()(

 

Findekáno stood at the heights of the tower in his childhood home that held in it the family library and his mother’s studio. After speaking and taking leave of his mother he found his way climbing the delicate wooden stairs that wound their way up the circular tower that rose up from the private quarters of his parents villa. It was not an imposing structure or exceptionally tall, though it did take advantage of the geography of the land, allowing one to feel as if they were on the tops of mountains looking out to the Bay of Eldamar as the tower was placed at the edge of the steep hill.

 

Findekáno felt Maitimo cautiously reaching out to him like the tentative touch of a lover unsure. Findekáno did not close himself to Maitimo, allowing his warmth to grow within him, dazzling colors of red warming him, leading him to the path of memories. Findekáno’s journey took him to simpler times, when life was blooming and all seemed possible. Closing his eyes, he could hear Maitimo’s voice, whispering, “Astaldo it is time for enjoyment...” It was one of his most treasured memories, most special days of his life, his coming of age, celebrated in love, with Maitimo…

 

_Maitimo and Findekáno were near the river where Findekáno had earlier bathed, assisted by the men of Finwë’s house and the men of his mother’s house for his coming of age ceremony. Even Fëanáro had been there, though in those earlier days the conflict between brothers had been more of the normal sort..._

 

Findekáno sighed. How he missed the conflict of those days. It was a simpler kind, easily knowable, entirely foreseeable, not like the discord and conflict that flamed between them at that moment. For during that time, love overcame that difficulty. Findekáno remembered his father’s and grandfather’s hands holding him as they gently submerged him in the fast moving water of the river, allowing the strength of the river to lift his feet…

 

_The cold water surged around him as he opened his eyes, the water strangely clear. Above him he could see the shapes of Nolofinw_ _ë and Finwë. Again he closed his eyes, willing himself to hear the sounds of the river, the water finding paths amongst the stones beneath him. Findekáno could not say how long he was under, only that when he was pulled up again he was gasping for breath as if he had been drowning; yet he had not once felt the fear of it nor had his body succumbed to the thought of it._

_And in this way_ _those that remembered Cuiviénen and those that awoke there made formal introductions of their children to the lands beyond the Veil, carried by the waters of the river into the seas beyond that touched the Outerlands. This was the coming of age ceremony of the_ Halda _, the anchoring of the thread of_ _Findekáno’s essence to the waters of Awakening. Findekáno felt himself stretched, strengthened, a deep sense of belonging warming him despite the cold river water dripping from his naked form._

_He was led out of the river to sit on a simple mat made of woven grass. There he sat and the light of Laurelin patiently dried the water upon him. He sat in contemplation as the men around him sang songs that told of their Journey to Eldamar that remembered the names of those left behind. His grandfather, Cuandur gently worked out the knots in his hair. Anair_ _ë’s father, born on the other side, held in his hands consecrated golden threads, the symbol of Findekáno’s house that had come to Anairë in her dreams. Indeed all elves that underwent such ceremony bore such gifts given by their mothers. Some of these gifts were tangible others were intangible, but each gift was unique, wholly a gift of the mother’s line to her children. Gently, Cuandur braided two plaits into his grandson’s hair, weaving within the thick plaits the threads of gold, symbol of Findekáno’s birthright and the light he would bring to the Noldor_ …

 

Those days were now distant, only treasured memories. Findekáno felt the threads in his hair, tracing the pattern as it wove in and out of the plait. The weight of his heart made him feel as if those days of his youth, of innocence, were a dream; a dream of another time and place that did not coincide with the contentious and darkening times he was living. Again Findekáno heard Maitimo’s voice whispering to him, willing him to travel back to earlier times when their love was simple. It was after both his coming of age ceremony and his formal presentation to the Court and the Noldor that Maitimo had come to Findekáno and stole him away, taking him back to the river to--in Maitimo’s words--“consecrate your blood to the Outerlands”...

_The two approached the river on horseback, the silver light of Telperion not its usual silvery bright, hindered by the hills that rose steeply above the river valley. Maitimo was the first to slide off his horse, continuing down the path amongst the trees to the river. He was laughing, throwing off his riding cloak then stripping off his tunic and undershirt._ _Findekáno trailed purposefully behind, watching Maitimo undress on the path. Findekáno did not remove his clothes like his cousin but walked slowly enjoying the scent of the damp earth, the sound of the river that made its way out into the Bay of Eldamar, and the sight of Maitimo dancing carefree._

_Maitimo glanced back at_ _Findekáno who was now standing still, watching him, a demure smile gracing his handsome face. Without sound, spoken or tread, Maitimo went to Findekáno. He stood before his younger half-cousin studying him with those curious and intense eyes that marked Maitimo as Fëanáro’s son. Carefully Maitimo undid the plaits in Findekáno’s hair, removing the gold thread. Ceremoniously, Maitimo folded up the threads and placed them in a pocket of Findekáno’s tunic. “We need no reminders in this moment of our duties to others and of days that have not yet come. Tonight we celebrate you Astaldo, only you.” Maitimo gifted his cousin a bright smile as he unbuttoned the younger elf’s tunic, revealing the lithe form beneath._

_Findekáno had not yet reached physical maturity but he was nonetheless quite beautiful and graceful, Maitimo considered. Maitimo stepped away from Findekáno, silently encouraging Findekáno to strip away the remainder of his clothes with a graceful nod of the head. Soon the two were diving into a deep part of the river, swimming, allowing the current of the river to take them to the next bend in the river. There they scrambled onto the banks and climbed the rocks to an open glade._

_Maitimo whispered,_ _“Astaldo it is time for enjoyment.” Maitimo began spinning in the glade, his bare feet light on the moss beneath. He was beauty and song. His laugh echoing in the valley as Findekáno watched with amusement and love. Swiftly Maitimo took Findekáno’s hand, sweeping him into his dance, Findekáno’s laughter now part of the silver song._

_They danced, danced as if there was no tomorrow, full of life and boldness. At that moment their lives were full of promise, not a care for obligations. There was an innocence under the skies dimly lit by Telperion’s glow, an excitement that change brings, the anticipation of youth. Life anew._

_Findekáno moved, no shame, his beauty on display. His hair loose, the breeze gently playing with the dark hair, spinning it on the loom of darkness greedily weaving a tapestry of the nights of far off places_...

 

But Findekáno was now burdened with the weight of change, standing on the balcony of the tower in his parent’s home, beyond him the light of the great silver lamp of Mindon piercing the veil beyond.  “I was so in love with you,” Findekáno whispered. “I am in love with you,” he murmured, his voice breaking, tears running down his face, his words lost to the silver darkness of Telperion.

 

)()()()()(

 

In other parts of Tirion, a maiden was strangely moved to dance under the light of Telperion. She wore a simple sleeping gown and her feet were bare, the damp grasses beneath her like a silken carpet. For the first time in her life she felt whole. She felt her body hers. As she danced her body reveled: the curve of her breasts, of her waist, her delicate but knowing hands companioned her voice as she softly hummed the familiar tunes of night. She felt the weight of his world upon him, but she also felt the light of a love so unknown to her it thrilled her. With her heart she eased his burden, her song now taking form, words of simpler and more innocent times easing his woes. Elenwë chanced upon the dance of womanhood and it celebrated her, embracing her in the wisdom and thought of Awakening. The veil was lifted for a moment and she appeared as a vision of one of her kindred in the Outerlands, a daughter of first grace.

 

TBC

 

)()()()(

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> atto-father
> 
> Halda- veiled, hidden, shadowed, shady. Halda is used interchangeably to refer to elves that made the Journey and crossed what is referred to as the Veil, coming from lands cast in shadow to Eldamar and the light of the Two Trees and to the belief system brought and practiced by those who Journeyed from the Outer Lands. Thus Halda is used to refer to a group of a people or a belief system and/or its related practices. When referring to the people I use the phrase, the Halda and when referring to the practices or belief system I also use the word Halda.
> 
> *For a great take on the legend of Cuivienyarna read DawnFelagund’s Reembodied. This is in line with my own musings on this aspect of Elvish lore that infuses most of the stories I write borrowing Tolkien’s characters.
> 
> Nolmë- knowledge, philosophy (including science), here used more akin to rationalism. Here it is used interchangeably as a type of knowledge and as a descriptor for a belief system.
> 
> Sarafinwë-Turgon’s mother name according to Parma Eldarlamberon, Vol. 17, "Words, Phrases and Passages in Various Tongues in The Lord of the Rings." It means Wise Finwë, so I am thinking it comes from Saira (older Quenya word for wise not to be confused with his daddy who is also wise Finwë, using Nolo). 
> 
>  
> 
> [1] From The Lost Road and Other Writings, Quenta Silmarillion


	6. Birds and Butterflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angaráto-Angrod  
> Aikanáro -Aegnor  
> Arafinwë/Ingoldo-Finarfin  
> Artanis/ Galadriel  
> Artaresto-Orodreth  
> Findaráto/Ingoldo/Ingo-Finrod  
> Findekáno/Káno/Astaldo - Fingon  
> Nelyafinwë /Maitimo/Russandol/Nelyo -Maedhros  
> Nolofinwë/Aracáno-Fingolfin  
> Turukáno/ Turno-Turgon  
> Tyelkormo-Celegorm
> 
> unbeta’d.

Story Summary: After a night out with Findaráto, Amarië, and Elenwë, Findekáno ends up sharing a night of passion with Elenwë, his brother Turukáno’s beloved. Findekáno feels awful about it, but not so awful that he regrets it. Findekáno confesses to Maitimo, though neither is sure how Findekáno’s transgression with Elenwë will impact their relationship. Their ambivalence is more symbolic of the growing tensions and distance between the Houses of Nolofinwë and Fëanáro. The growing tensions are not only within Finwë’s family. There are Noldorin nobles, headed by Atanalacar, who like the status quo, and do not appreciate the liberalization of policies that the younger Finwions are heralding. Set against this backdrop of crumbling social order, Anairë finds out about Elenwë and Findekáno’s indiscretion and decides to intervene, partly because she feels guilty, believing that she unwittingly put Elenwë onFindekáno’s path. We also find out that these tensions are reflective of deeper religious/spiritual beliefs that are dividing all the elves as well as the Noldor. In the last chapter we meet Almáriel, Turukáno’s lover, is representative of the older spiritual traditions that harkens back to times before elves made the Great Journey. Indeed both Turukáno and Findekáno’s characters reflect the public and private dichotomies of elven life that are coming to a head. This uncertainty reflects the widening gulf between Maitimo and Findekáno, though both remember earlier easier times in the last chapter, offering a glimpse of more innocent times between the two. Now we will find out about the aftermath for Elenwë with both Turukáno and Findekáno and how this incident will play out in the lives of those around them.

 

**Chapter 6: Birds and Butterflies**

 

Eärwen was in her gardens, humming a popular tune, trimming flowering bushes. The light of Laurelin cast its warmth upon the earth, enlivening growing things. Birds were out in large numbers, chirping, chattering and scavenging the moist earth for worms.  Arafinwë sat, his back on a tree for support, beneath him a colorful quilt. He watched his wife tending her beloved garden. _Like a butterfly_ , he mused, as Eärwen gracefully danced her way from plant to plant, humming and pausing to share a word here and there with the birds. Her silver hair and bright blue dress caught the attention of other suitors. Eärwen found herself gently shooing birds that began courting her.

 

“My love, should I be jealous?” Arafinwë called out to his wife.

 

Eärwen ignored her husband, continuing her song amidst the increasingly bold pursuit of the birds. This was a game they often played, Eärwen and the birds, in her garden. The delicate female birds chirped from the branches above, seemingly gossiping and finding the birds’ dance below amusing, their song cheerful and light.

 

Arafinwë, like the gallant birds, would not be ignored, “Shall I too dance and sing a song for the lady in blue?”

 

Eärwen turned towards her husband, her lips pursed, while keeping to her task of trimming.

 

“Shall I kick my feet on the earth or climb a tree?” Arafinwë continued, watching his wife’s eyes, which were dancing with amusement. Arafinwë, ever the lighthearted, always had a story to tell and whether it was true or not was the least of it.

 

“Now dear,” Eärwen finally replied, “will you also deposit droppings to fertilize my flowers, though I do not think our guests would think well of you if you did.”

 

Arafinwë fell onto his back laughing. “Imagine that dearest! Me pulling down my pants and…” Arafinwë paused, he rolled onto his side, his head propped on his head. He was no longer laughing. Instead he wore a devious grin, his eyes narrowing as he watched his wife. “Now come to think of it, I like the idea of dropping my pants, but I’d like it more if you would do me the honor.”

 

“Umf,” Arafinwë grunted as a handful of trimmings landed solidly on his face.

 

Eärwen returned to humming the song as if nothing had happened, hiding her face from Arafinwë so he could not see she was amused by his antics. She heard him coming up behind her, but did not turn to greet him. Soon enough he had his arms around her, moving her long silver hair aside so he could have access to that spot behind her ears. Eärwen stood to make his task easier, tossing the trimmings she held in her hands aside. She laughed as Arafinwë found his favorite spot, trailing gentle kisses along her neck.

 

“Those poor birds,” he mumbled, “their dance was not enough to win the heart of the blue lady.”

 

“You think?” she answered, turning to kiss her husband more directly.

 

From behind them they heard coughing, but they ignored the source.

 

“Oh you two, stop for the love of Eru, Amarië and Elenwë are turning a deep shade of crimson,” Artanis announced as she walked into the garden with Amarië and Elenwë. They each held platters of food and drink for afternoon tea. Amarië and Elenwë had earlier arrived to join Eärwen for afternoon tea. As part of Amarië and Findaráto’s courtship it was expected Amarië would become well acquainted with Eärwen, for according to Vanyarin dictates, upon marriage Eärwen would become the senior woman in Amarië’s life.

 

Arafinwë pulled away from his wife, wearing a scowl. “Indeed we must not offend our guests. What would our Vanyarin friends think of us?” He offered the young maidens a wink.

 

Eärwen shook her head, moving to help the women with their burden of food. “Ignore my husband’s barbarism. He is but a son of Finwë.”

 

The trio of young maidens laughed. Arafinwë shrugged his shoulders, feigning innocence, as he whistled the tune Eärwen was humming earlier, placing the platters on the large quilt. The four settled on the ground and began eating and drinking, talking about mundane things.

 

Arafinwë stuffed his mouth with a number of finger sandwiches. Speaking through a mouthful, he announced, “I must take my leave,” pausing to chew more conspicuously. Artanis and Eärwen rolled their eyes in unison, each shaking their head at Arafinwë’s antics.

 

“This wild elf has business to attend.” Arafinwë wiped the crumbs from his mouth with his hands, which he in turn wiped on his tunic.

 

“Oh now Arafinwë, really. Your headed to court and now you have stains on your tunic!” Eärwen chastised her husband.

 

“No one will say a word to me dearest. They will talk behind my back, though I do not care for I am but a son of Finwë.” Arafinwë moved over to his wife and hovering over her lips, whispered, “It is why you love me my Teleri princess.”

 

Eärwen smiled, her eyes full of love for her husband, “It is true. Now go, before Finwë himself tells you about what a son of his should be about.” She leaned in and kissed her husband.

 

Artanis stood next to her kneeling father, waiting with her hand outstretched. Arafinwë took hold of his daughter’s hand and the two walked into their home, leaving the other three in the garden. Artanis escorted her father through the house and out to the front courtyard, repeating their daily ritual. She’d walk him to the entrance gate of their home, kiss him on his cheek, and watch him walk up the winding path towards the Palace. One day, she thought to herself, she herself would be walking that path to work at the palace, one day soon.

 

Back in the garden the three women fell into a conversation about husbands. Eärwen turned her attention to Amarië. “Now tell me dearest, do you think Findaráto will make a pleasant husband? He is so much like his father,” she added teasing the younger maiden.

 

“Oh,” Amarië murmured caught off guard by Eärwen’s not so indirect probing, though there was nothing malicious about it. Amarië responded honestly, “Your son will make the best of husbands, and watching the two of you--you and Arafinwë--well I feel eager for that day to come.”

 

“Enjoy your courtship,” Eärwen spoke earnestly, “for with betrothal you will find yourself apart more than together in the time before you marry.”

 

“Indeed,” Amarië replied, now wearing a frown. “I do not know why my father insists we follow the stricter codes. We are certainly gifted time, but,” she paused looking earnestly at Eärwen, “and I do not know why, I feel we are pressed for time.”

 

Eärwen held Amarië’s gaze, knowing the maiden was not speaking from youthful impetuousness. It was true what Amarië shared. It felt as if time was slipping away from them. Eärwen took Amarië’s hand in her own. “We shall convince your father otherwise then.”

 

Amarië’s face lit up, “That would be most welcome, my lady!”

 

Eärwen replied, “Then we shall put our heads together and come up with a plan. Of course Findaráto shall also have a say.”

 

Amarië nodded her head vigorously, “Oh he has hoped as much!”

 

Elenwë sat silently, listening to the two, their excitement building. She reproached herself for not being able to share their excitement. Her path was not as clear as Amarië’s.

 

“What about you?” Eärwen asked, turning her attention to Elenwë.

 

“Well, my father is actually in a hurry to see me betrothed to Turukáno. He is not of the same mind as his brother, my uncle Cemendur.”

 

“Maybe your father can be convinced to speak to my father?” Amarië asked, a hopeful plea lighting her eyes.

 

“Well that certainly is not a bad idea,” Elenwë considered. She continued, changing the subject, wishing to speak no more on the topic of betrothal and potential husbands. “What song were you humming Eärwen? It certainly sounded familiar.”

 

“Forbidden Loves,” Eärwen replied, “such a lovely, lovely melody. It reminds me of the sea.” Eärwen fixed her sight somewhere beyond the garden, her face expressionless, as she became lost in memories of the sea.

 

“Of course,” Amarië offered, “it will be performed overmorrow, though I will not be there to hear it.”

 

“What a shame,” Eärwen answered, fully invested again in the present moment.

 

Elenwë snorted, “Let me guess, uncle Cemendur finds the topic inappropriate.”

 

Amarië wore a scowl, her arms crossed against her body. “My father! Sometimes I just want to…” Her voice died down. It was no use. Her father would not change, and if she became too lost in her anger she would be more miserable. Amarië would not let her father’s gilded cage steal her joy. He was not happy with Findaráto’s courtship of his daughter but Cemendur was not a fool. Though he disliked the Noldor, Cemendur was nothing if not ambitious and a marriage between his daughter and a grandson of the Noldóran would assure him of a place back in the court of his king, Ingwë. If only the sons and grandchildren could have inherited more of Indis’ temperament, Amarië often heard her father complain, but no, they were totally Finwion; and Fëanáro and his lot, they were hopeless!

 

The three heard Artanis returning, but she was not alone. The boisterous sounds of laughter and merry-making rang from within the house. Elenwë froze. She heard Turukáno’s singular deep laugh. She was not ready to face him. Not yet! But what did she expect? She could not avoid him. The group noisily made their way out, trailing behind them were attendants carrying large trays piled with food and drink.

 

Eärwen rose to greet her sons, but as they spilled out into the garden she was greatly surprised to see that Artaresto was with them, “You came home!” she cried out, running to hug her son. Aikanáro and Angaráto made like they were greatly offended [1].

 

“And what of us, _ammë_ , do we not deserve such a greeting?” Aikanáro chided his mother.

 

“Oh come here the two of you,” Eärwen retorted, embracing her three sons. To Artaresto she spoke, “And why are you home?”

 

Angaráto smiled smugly, “Now that’s more like it _ammë_!”

 

Aikanáro laughed beside him.

 

Artaresto glared at them and then turned to speak with his mother. “I am only here for a visit. I will return to grandfather’s halls. Soon enough you will have me out of your hair,” he offered, a slight pout gracing his fair face.

 

“Oh stop it. I was not expecting you. It has been too long since last I saw you, but I am truly pleased to have you here, if only for a brief time,” Eärwen spoke holding Artaresto’s face in her hands, feeling the warmth of her son. She stepped back and looked over all three of her sons before her, lovingly inspecting them, commenting on Aikanáro’s wind burnt face, the increased number of freckles on Angaráto’s nose and cheeks, and Artaresto’s wild hair.

 

Elenwë and Amarië silently watched the scene before them, though Elenwë felt the gaze of Turukáno upon her. She stole quick glances his way, offering him a timid smile. In return he offered her a boyish smile. He was so disarming, but the thought that he had just returned from being with his lover maddened her.

 

“And when am I going to receive a hug from you Turno,” Eärwen spoke shifting her motherly gaze over to the dark haired elf that stood respectfully to the side. She walked over to Turukáno who stood almost a foot taller than her sons, who were of strikingly similar height to each other, tall, but not Nolofinwion tall [2].

 

“ _Onónëamil_ ,” Turukáno greeted Eärwen. Though he embraced his aunt, he kept his eyes on Elenwë that stood just beyond them.

 

Eärwen inspected Turukáno’s face, as she was wont to do. “I have just the salve to help your lips. You certainly do not want to kiss a maiden with those now do you?” she teased Turukáno, offering a wink to Elenwë who blushed deeply.

 

Turukáno smiled stealing a glance at Elenwë whose cheeks were flushed. He could not wait to greet her properly!

 

“How did my home greet the sons of the Noldor?” Eärwen asked as she led the group to sit and eat amidst a grove of copper beeches that flanked the garden.

 

“Well, mother. Grandparents sent us packing with many crates for you,” Angaráto answered between mouthfuls of buttered scones. He lay on his side, head propped up by his hand, content to be relaxing at his parents’ home.

 

“And of this you should be glad because Grandmother would hear none of our complaints at being so burdened,” Artaresto continued. “I am curious to see exactly what was sent.”

 

Aikanáro interjected, “I am sure at least a crate of it is wine from the Lonely Isle.”

 

“You will have to at least reward us each a bottle for bringing your gifts,” Angaráto concluded, through a mouthful of finger sandwiches.

 

Eärwen eyed her sons who, like their father, were stuffing themselves with food, wiping their mouths with hands though linens were set out for them. She shook her head in mock frustration. “We shall see,” she finally answered. “Your aunt Anairë and I are particularly fond of the wines of the Island.”

 

Artanis laughed, “I doubt they will leave a drop for us. You would think they were in the taverns of Lower Tirion the way they drown themselves in it.”

 

The brothers laughed loudly, Amarië and Elenwë trying to suppress grins from spreading across their face.

 

Eärwen gifted her daughter with one of her looks. “And for that Artanis you will certainly get none, though I know you are also fond of it.”

 

Angaráto tugged at Artanis’ hair, “Don’t push your luck. The next thing you know she’ll send you packing to live with Fëanáro and Nerdanel.”

 

“Imagine that,” Artanis retorted, “if it is entirely impossible living with the lot of you I should think it would be a zoo living with the sons of Fëanáro.”

 

“Though I dare say that you would fit right in to uncle Fëanáro’s clan,” Turukáno replied, breaking his silence. “Your temper is matched only by Tyelkormo’s. I’d pay to see that.”

 

Artanis threw an apple at Turukáno, though Turukáno was quicker, catching it and taking a big bite out of it as he winked at his cousin.

 

Unlike Tyelkormo, once provoked, Artanis could channel her anger elsewhere, leave it for another moment. She turned her attention to Artaresto asking questions about their family in Alqualondë. The remainder of the afternoon found the group sharing stories of the races at Alqualondë, the retelling grander, more exciting, and outright inventive. Turukáno made his way to sit next to Elenwë. The latter ignored him, prompting Turukáno to be bolder.

 

“I am stuffed,” Turukáno announced. “Will you walk with me?” he asked, directing his question to Elenwë. “I am in need of stretching my legs.”

 

Aikanáro and Amarië looked expectantly at Elenwë, a knowing smile on Aikanáro’s face and slight frown on Amarië’s.

 

Elenwë did not want to draw too much attention to her foul mood so she accepted. “I will, my lord,” she answered being more formal than the occasion required.

 

As soon as they were out of earshot of the group, Turukáno put himself in front of Elenwë. “Why are you so serious? You have said but a couple of words to me. Are you not happy to see me?” Turukáno gently caressed her face with his hands, calloused from the sailing.

 

His nearness undid her. She had missed him, his smell, that smug way he carried himself, walking, sitting, knowing he was imposing. She raised her eyes to meet his. “I am,” her voice trailed off as she became lost in the blue-grey of his stormy eyes, the soft paleness of his skin, the firm set of his jaw.

 

“Good,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss Elenwë. At first she did not let him open her mouth with his lips, but he insisted and their kiss deepened.

 

 _Well let’s see what he thinks of this_ , Elenwë thought, kissing him more passionately, testing to see how hungrily he was willing to kiss her. To her surprise, Turukáno let out a slight growl and took up her challenge.

 

He pulled away after a few moments, afraid that he would lose control of himself. He looked upon Elenwë with an expression of curiosity; a single eyebrow rose on his handsome face, a corner of his mouth slightly upturned. Before he could speak he heard Amarië calling for them from a respectful distance.

 

“I want to come back to this,” Turukáno whispered, tracing Elenwë’s lips with his thumb.

 

“You enjoyed that?” Elenwë asked, trailing her hand down to his groin.

 

She heard him gasp. His eyes widened in surprise. She felt him harden under her touch. She smiled triumphantly. “I see there is more that you enjoy,” she purred, directly challenging the line Turukáno had drawn in regards to her virtue. Elenwë turned and walked away, leaving Turukáno standing, his mouth open, eyes wide, unsure if he had just imagined what happened. Elenwë turned and offered him a seductive smile. “Come Turno, they are waiting for us.”

 

“Ye…s,” Turukáno finally blurted out taking a moment to compose himself. “I will be a second,” he added, willing himself to calm. He was hard. It was going to take a great deal to make himself presentable. As soon as Elenwë and Amarië were out of sight, Turukáno quickly adjusted himself, tucking here and there as best he could to dissimulate his erection. He arranged his tunic so the length of it covered him. He had much to consider, maybe even rethink. Finally pleased with his ministrations, he returned to the group where he sat uncomfortably for another while.

 

Angaráto excused himself, announcing he needed to get to Eldalótë for which he earned many colorful remarks from his brothers. Angaráto took it in stride. Turukáno also excused himself, anxious to return to his parent’s home and clear his mind and relieve himself of another stiff problem. His baggage was sent ahead to his parents’ home so he did not have to worry about that. Unlike Findekáno, he lived at home as it was custom that the eldest son lives away from the home as a bachelor, though many did not keep that custom. Mainly, for Turukáno it was not about custom. He was simply content living with his parents and sister.

 

After Angaráto and Turukáno left, and the remainder of the sons made to their rooms to settle and rest after the trip, Eärwen excused herself, bidding farewell to Amarië and Elenwë who were also walking back to Amarië’s home on the other side of Tirion. Artanis would accompany them part way. She was headed to the Palace to meet Findaráto. As she readied herself, she overheard Amarië and Elenwë’s excited voices. She could here the names of Turukáno and Findekáno being spoken repeatedly. Something was amiss, Artanis reasoned. She went over the details of the lunch in her mind… Elenwë had returned quite content with herself after taking a walk with Turukáno during afternoon tea, and well Turukáno, he clearly was trying too hard to hide the massive erection that refused to budge. He earned a few jabs for it from her brothers. Artanis had studied it closely. Turukáno caught her eyeing him, but she didn’t conceal her gaze. In fact she made it more obvious, enjoying the discomfort it caused her cousin. Her mother had also noticed, in that way older women notice these things, smiling to themselves, their eyes glazing over at some memory. Elenwë had not observed that Artanis was eyeing Turukáno as she was working hard to play coy with Turukáno. If Elenwë had paid closer attention, she would have seen Turukáno’s attention was elsewhere…

 

Serves Turukáno well, Artanis thought as she changed into a more formal gown to meet her brother. She knew Turukáno was a bit of a traditionalist. She’d heard as much from Elenwë’s whining and Amarië’s advice on those occasions Artanis was importuned to spend time with them. And then there was the other evening when Amarië and Elenwë were supposed to spend the night at Arafinwë’s home. Of course Amarië stayed with Findaráto, but Elenwë had not shown up that evening. Instead Elenwë had tried to sneak in unnoticed very early the next morning, a flushed look about her. Artanis was not stupid. Elenwë clearly desired to lose her virginity; what an arrogant term Artanis thought. It appeared Elenwë had achieved her goal and it was not with Turukáno because he was away. Serves him right, Artanis thought smugly, but who had it been? This elevated Elenwë in Artanis’ eyes. She wasn’t just another Vanya maiden more concerned with keeping a stale and illusory peace in the home. Though she loved Amarië, the two had little in common. What her brother saw in her, Artanis would never know: her large breasts? Certainly it was more than that; Findaráto was usually attracted to legs, the longer the better, which is why it was a strange match indeed. Vanyarin women were not short, but Noldorin tall, certainly not.

 

Artanis smiled, that dangerous smile of hers. She would find out, of course.

 

“Let us be off,” Artanis announced as she descended the stairs into the foyer where Amarië and Elenwë were waiting.

 

Amarië shared a look with Elenwë that said, do not worry she knows nothing! Amarië could not fathom that Artanis knew anything about love and sex and all that was in between. She had never shown interest in anyone. Not a man, not a woman, not a soul!

 

)()()()(

 

The three made their way to the Palace. Amarië would walk the extra distance to share a quick moment with Findaráto. As they approached the Palace, Elenwë felt a knot in her stomach. No, she thought to herself. It cannot be. There standing with Findaráto on the stone steps was Findekáno and another elf she did not recognize. Of course they would be together. The eldest grandsons of Finwë were all expected to serve in the Court, spending much time together, though Maitimo, she heard had been more absent of late, his father requiring him to attend to other duties.

 

Elenwë heard Artanis call out, now running towards the group, “ _Onónëamil!_ I did not expect you.”

 

The dark-haired maiden replied, “I hope my intrusion is welcome my lovely Artanis.”

 

Artanis eagerly hugged her aunt, gifting her a radiant smile. “I wanted to meet with you. I have been meaning to.”

 

“We have much to discuss, the three of us,” Lalwen replied, turning to look at Findaráto and Findekáno. Both shook their heads in agreement.

 

Amarië waited discretely behind Artanis to greet Lalwen before she could greet Findaráto. That was the order of things.

 

Lalwen released Artanis and moved over to greet Amarië. “You look radiant. Are you joining us? I certainly hope so.”

 

“Oh no Lady Írimë,” Amarië replied, using her formal name, “We must return to my father’s home. We are expected there.” She paused as Lalwen shared a smile with Elenwë.

 

“Lady Írimë,” Amarië offered, “this is my cousin Elenwë. She is living with us for the season studying at the Nolmëisse.”

 

Lalwen, ever direct, raised an eyebrow. “Unheard of--a maiden of the Vanya at Nolmëisse?”

 

Elenwë stepped forward. “I am not full time enrolled, my lady. I study arts and letters there. My father believes I should take advantage of the opening of it to women.” Though the Vanyar had their own schools, it was not unheard of that Vanyarin nobles to send sons to the Nolmëisse for it had a fine reputation.

 

“Forgive my manners Elenwë. You and I have not met, but I have heard much of you, and you are as fair and bright as described.” The smile Lalwen gifted Elenwë was warm and open. “I should love to speak with your father. A degree is more appealing than taking a class here and there, but I am sure you and I will have the opportunity to discuss these things in less of a rush.”

 

“Well met Lady Írimë. I have heard much of you as well and I’ve the occasion to see you at Ingwë’s court. You are an inspiration to many of us,” Elenwë replied. “And I do look forward to having the pleasure of your company at a more opportune time.”

 

Lalwen’s eyes brightened. “That is well to hear.” Lalwen moved closer to Elenwë, whispering in her ear, a mischievous smile on her face. “Beauty and conviction. No wonder my nephews’ speak so highly of you.”

 

Elenwë made to reply, but Lalwen held her finger up to her mouth. “No words. We will speak more freely on another occasion. I look forward to that.”

 

“As do I my lady,” Elenwë replied, sincerely looking forward to getting to know the eminent Lady Írimë.

 

“I must take my leave. I promised a certain brother I would fetch him his favorite sweets and I mustn’t make him wait.” Lalwen turned her attention to Findaráto and the others, “I will see the three of you in my chambers, and by Eru, Ingo, greet your lady! You know I am not beholden to silly protocols.”

 

Findaráto laughed and swooped Amarië in a bold embrace, kissing her in manner that would certainly get folks gossiping.

 

Lalwen quickly made her way towards her brother. He really would be unbearable if she delayed.

 

Elenwë blushed, not because she was embarrassed by Amarië and Findaráto’s intimacy, but because Findekáno was watching her, with that roguish look of his. She bit her lips, smiling to herself. What a quandary she had gotten herself into, but she could not help but enjoy the rush of it-having Turukáno undone, and now having Findekáno standing before her. This was the first time they were seeing each other after their intimate time together. Oh Eru, the memories of that silver evening rushed back in vivid detail, the feeling of him exploring her body, filling her.

 

Findekáno watched her intently, noticed her breathing became a bit shallower, quicker, her eyes half closed, her hands clenching at her side, her cheeks flush. He too remembered, remembered every contour of her body, the way she trembled to his touch, her raw need.

 

Artanis let out an indecorous snort that snapped Elenwë and Findekáno out of their sexual reveries. Elenwë blushed more deeply, turning her attention to Findaráto and Amarië. Artanis approached Findekáno, standing side to side with him. Leaning over she whispered, “I am going to have to compare notes.”

 

“What do you mean?” Findekáno asked his cousin who wore a devilish grin and was playfully bumping him with her shoulders.

 

Artanis’ smile widened. “Who is bigger of course!”

 

Findekáno now turned to her wearing a perplexed look. “Bigger?”

 

“You or Turukáno. It seems the sons of Nolofinwë are easily moved.” Artanis pursed her lips. She was enjoying this too much. “Turukáno and my brothers arrived during afternoon tea,” she added, noting Findekáno’s confusion.

 

Findekáno put his hand over his face as he turned to look at the ground. “Oh,” he groaned, “I see. Truly I feel it and certainly you see it.” Unlike Turukáno, Findekáno was not overly embarrassed by his stiffness nor that Artanis had noticed. Holding his hand over his mouth for a second, as if trying to compose himself, he turned back to Artanis. “So who is bigger?”

 

Artanis threw her head back overcome with laughter. Her and Findekáno had a similar personality and humor, direct and bold. “Oh no cousin,” she spoke between laughs, “I think the only one here who can speak truly to that is our dearest Elenwë.”

 

Elenwë’s head snapped in Artanis’ direction. Artanis eyed her, with that satisfied look of hers.

 

Findekáno was shaking his head in dismay. Of course it was difficult to dissimulate their attraction for one another. “Turukáno has returned and you have seen him,” he stated dispassionately.

 

Elenwë nodded her head, trying her best not to scowl openly at Artanis. Artanis, truly was not to blame. Artanis was simply astute, plainly getting enjoyment out of her situation.

 

“She has _seen_ him,” Artanis replied, her words dripping with sarcasm. Her attention now turned to Elenwë, she continued, “But what I want to know is how it is that both Turukáno and Findekáno are so moved by you?”

 

Elenwë’s mouth was set in a firm line. She glared openly at Artanis now, the nerve of her to be so direct. Findaráto and Amarië were standing quietly watching what was taking place. If Findaráto did not know he certainly did now, but he said nothing.

 

“Now Artanis,” Findekáno started, but the golden haired maiden shook her head defiantly.

 

“No Findekáno,” she answered him, her attention turning towards Elenwë. “I am simply curious. Curious to know if Elenwë understands the predicament she is in.”

 

“Artanis I am no child,” Elenwë retorted holding the taller maiden’s gaze with her own. “I owe you no explanation.” She wanted to say something cruel, biting, to Artanis, but Elenwë held her tongue out of respect for Findaráto and Findekáno, though truly she wondered if it would even bother Artanis.

 

Artanis raised a single eyebrow. She liked this more defiant Elenwë. “No you do not, but I dare say that the lot of you should be more discreet, that is if you do not want gossip to run.”

 

Amarië had had enough. “It is none of your concern.”

 

Before Amarië could continue, Artanis put an end to the conversation. “Very well. I will say no more after this, though it is a well known fact that in this family, brothers seem to get into the messy habit of sharing their women.” Artanis shot her brother a piercing look. Findaráto shared a cynical smile in return.

 

Amarië had to be restrained by Findaráto, but she said nothing for Artanis spoke truth. She herself had warned Elenwë to be mindful of all of Finwë’s grandsons when she started her courtship with Turukáno, knowing that she had first set her heart to Findekáno.

 

Artanis settled back onto her heels, retreating a bit behind Findekáno. She had said her piece.

 

Elenwë was now openly confused. “And just of what are you speaking of Artanis?”

 

Findaráto answered instead. “When the time is more appropriate I believe I have a story to share with you Elenwë, but I will say this to you--and to you too Findekáno,” Findaráto added turning his concerned gaze to his cousin, “tread carefully.”

 

With these words the group stood silently, each contemplating their own troubles. Finally, Amarië announced that she and Elenwë had to leave. They were now overdue she reminded them. Amarië looped her arm through Elenwë’s and led her way from the palace towards her father’s home, sharing one last smile with Findaráto-as if assuring him he need not worry. Elenwë was clearly stunned by the unexpected turn of events and she and Amarië would have much to talk about.

 

As they watched Elenwë and Amarië depart, the three turned, leaving the promenade, and slowly walked up the stone stairs towards the palace portico.

 

“The night the four of you went to the shows,” Artanis stated, not expressing a question.

 

“Yes” Findekáno answered.

 

“Why?” Artanis now turned to look directly at Findekáno. She did not understand it.

 

“I suppose because she surprised me with her boldness?” Findekáno replied not knowing how else to answer, because truly why?

 

Findaráto followed silently. He had been there after all and he was no fool, he knew what was going to happen, what happened.

 

“And what of Turukáno?” Artanis asked.

 

Findekáno shrugged his shoulders. “I guess my passion spoke louder than my allegiances to him.”

 

Artanis snorted, “Truly you sound like Findaráto now.” She turned and slapped Findaráto on the arm. “Really what is it with the House of Finwë? It seems we are void bent--no wait--it seems the men are intent on destroying it from within.”

 

“That hurt Artanis, remember your strength.” Findaráto reproached his sister, rubbing away the sting inflicted on his arm.

 

Artanis rolled her eyes, returning to her interrogation of Findekáno. “But I know you Findekáno. I know you and Nelyo are strained. You cannot replace him with her, though she professes love to you.” Artanis hesitated, the group pausing on the steps. “She is easy to love. I can see that.” Artanis continued, her cold countenance softening.

 

Findekáno noticed the uncharacteristic wistfulness on his cousin’s face. “That she is Artanis, though, now that we are speaking honestly, I must admit that there is something strange that compels me to her.”

 

Artanis studied Findekáno, looking him over with her deep blue eyes. “Yes something compels you indeed, but we will speak of that later.”

 

The three now found themselves in the halls of the palace knowing that every word they now said would be overheard. Every word spoken inside the walls was accounted for, calculated, and measured.  Such was Noldorin politics and court intrigue.

 

)()()()()(

 

“Amarië, what was that all about, with Artanis and Findaráto,” Elenwë insisted despite Amarië’s attempts to change the topic of conversation. Elenwë stopped, she was certainly surprised at Artanis’ revelation. “You and one of Findaráto’s brothers?”

 

“Oh goodness, no!” Amarië replied, her hand over her mouth.

 

“Then?” Elenwë prodded.

 

“Very well. If you must know-“

 

“And I must!” Elenwë interrupted impatiently.

 

Amarië shook her head in frustration at her cousin. “When Angaráto first began courting Eldalótë,” her voice dropped off. She did not want to say it, admit it, though she remembered the words Irissë shared with her the night of the shows, _‘You well know that the quickest thing to come between brothers is a lady…’_ Of course Irissë had been referring to Angaráto and Findaráto, but nonetheless it was hard to say aloud that her Findaráto was less than perfect.

 

“Out with it Amarië,” breathed Elenwë, doing a poor job concealing her eagerness.

 

“Findaráto seduced Eldalótë. She was young like you.” Amarië bit her lips. Repeating this history was unsettling for her.

 

“What! Why?” Elenwë blurted, not expecting such a tale.

 

“I guess because like you, he knew that she had been enamored of him.”

 

“It seems all of Tirion is enamored of the firstborn of Finwë’s children.” Elenwë spoke, the surprise wearing off, replaced by incredulity.

 

“It is as you say Elenwë. They are the most visible princes, who frequent court and attend to the people of behalf of their father’s and the King. They are symbols, and unmarried ones at that. It should come as no surprise that they are the target of much adoration,” Amarië replied thoughtfully.

 

“That they are,” Elenwë agreed. “But why would Findaráto do that to Angaráto?”

 

“Because Angaráto brought her into their home and there she fell under the spell of Findaráto. Eldalótë was young and impressionable. Her awe of Findaráto was obvious.” Amarië paused, unsure if she should share her truer thoughts on the matter.

 

“Go on,” Elenwë urged.

 

“You know, Ingoldo was much more of a rogue in his younger days.” Amarië declared, a deep rosy blush spreading across her fair face.

 

“No!” Elenwë squealed, playfully pushing Amarië, “It moves you that he was a bit of a rogue, doesn’t it!”

 

Amarië was now hiding a blossoming smile behind her hand, nodding her head, stray blonde curls falling onto her face. “Does that make me awful that this aspect of him excites me?” Amarië turned to look expectantly at Elenwë.

 

“No cousin, it means that you are a maiden like the rest of us,” Elenwë giggled, leaning her head on Amarië as the two strolled towards Amarië’s home. “And yet it all seems to have worked out for the better? Angaráto and Eldalótë are married and Findaráto is madly in love with you.”

 

Amarië sighed, “Tis true. Though it was a rough road for the three of them, they managed to move beyond it. And yes, my Ingoldo is truly mine.” Amarië was now dreamily staring into the distance, thoughts of Findaráto consuming her.

 

Elenwë also stared ahead, thinking of her own situation. A mischievous smile crept on her lips. “If only I could have the both of them. I think I would be very happy with that.”

 

“Elenwë!” Amarië cried out, thoughts of Findaráto banished by Elenwë’s bold admission.

 

“And why not Amarië? Think of it. I have heard it said that such arrangements were more common in the Outerlands,” Elenwë spoke defiantly.

 

“But those were different times, different places Elenwë! Let none hear you speak these words or you will be exiled back to the Mountain!” Amarië cautiously looked around at those that walked down the busy Tirion road. None seemed to be paying attention to the two women.

 

Elenwë frowned. Of course Amarië was correct. Such thoughts, nevertheless voicing them, could cause her much trouble and heartache. “Very well. Though my heart desires it. I will make sure that I speak of it never again,” she shared, her tone a whisper.

 

Amarië turned and kissed her cousin’s forehead, her father’s home appearing around the bend of the road. They were in the noble quarter of Tirion, where many Lords kept their city homes. Very few had the estates that Finwë’s children held within the city.

 

“It’s her legs,” Elenwë announced loudly.

 

“Whose legs?” Amarië asked, quite perplexed by what seemed Elenwë’s nonsensical pronouncement.

 

“Eldalótë’s legs,” Elenwë answered more discreetly, “It is why your Prince seduced her.”

 

“They are long aren’t they?” Amarië responded, likewise keeping her voice muted.

 

“Yes,” Elenwë quietly agreed, adding, “Can you imagine trailing kisses along them and finally getting to her dark treasure? That must be exhilarating. I am beginning to see why Findaráto would be so moved.”

 

“Elenwë!!!” Amarië cried out at her cousin’s growing impropriety and boldness. Amarië shushed her cousin as they crossed the threshold into Cemendur’s townhouse [3].

 

)()()()()(

 

“Findekáno,” Nolofinwë called out to his eldest as Findekáno left Lalwen’s public chambers, an anteroom between the Grand Gallery and the Royal Court Chambers.

 

Findekáno hesitated, knowing his father was in court late because he had stayed behind at Anairë’s request. He knew what that was about and now he saw that look on his father’s face--his mouth was set in a grim line, his jaw tense, his eyes shining in that way they did when he faced something challenging, though this was beyond that.

 

“To my private chambers,” Nolofinwë commanded, not stopping to see if Findekáno trailed him. They walked through the Grand Gallery that was aglow with the light of Laurelin streaming in from the large domed windows that lined the great hall. It was a beautiful space, carved out of soft white stone that allowed sculptors to etch the most beautiful details. Into the stone Noldorin sculptors carved out vines that snaked their way up the walls, blooming, reaching towards the light that poured in. Yet it was stark. The marble floors beneath had elegant rugs that ran down the lengths of the large hall. It certainly had been a monumental task, weaving such large pieces. They were commissioned by Miriel. She hated the cold of the Palace, bringing living things within. Large potted plants lined the interior, flowering vines climbing the austere white stone walls so that stone and living vines wound around one another.

 

Findekáno trailed behind his father. Nolofinwë’s steps were long, purposeful, betraying his frame of mind. Findekáno felt like a child, trailing behind his father to be scolded for yet another thing he had done he wasn't supposed to. How little things changed. But to those that saw them walking down the center of the Grand Gallery it was to see the pinnacle of Noldorin power and beauty. Nolofinwë with his imposing gait, stern yet determined look he wore in court. Findekáno was no less imposing, yet he signaled another generation, another attitude. He wore two simple braids, gold thread wrapped around to hold them in place. His dress was simpler, but no less fine.

 

They made their way climbing through a maze of hallways and rooms until they crossed a large private courtyard that lead to Finwë’s private apartments where each of his children had their own chambers. Finwë’s home was a large structure, sitting, high behind the public parts of the palace. The palace structure was like a small mountain, rising from the tops of Tuna, topped by the Mindon. Crossing the threshold to the privacy of Nolofinwë’s childhood home, Findekáno saw his father’s shoulders slump, though the change was not obvious. He turned to face Findekáno his eyes were no longer set with his usual brightness. Worry lines appeared across his smooth face. He made to speak, but hesitated, shaking his head. He continued walking until he finally reached his private chambers.

 

Nolofinwë removed his robe, dropping it carelessly on a settee in his sitting room. He went over to a cabinet and removed a bottle and glasses, filling them. Nolofinwë offered one to Findekáno and with his hand indicated where he wanted Findekáno to sit. It was the chair, the chair that had no view, the chair that made it hard to fidget. This was the chair favored by Nolofinwë when extremely delicate matters of state arose. In rare times, Nolofinwë would summon a noble to speak with him within the privacy of his chambers, inviting them to sit in _the chair_. Then Nolofinwë would descend with words and argument, relentless, but also polite and witty, soothing his opponent. He would weave a spell and achieve his goal.

 

Fëanáro, on the other hand, Findekáno recalled as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair, would let the offending party speak, speak, speak until they had no more to say. Nolofinwë always hated that part, having heard enough of the person’s talk in court. Nolofinwë knew the narrative, preferring to skip that part. Both brothers would assault their target, though in different ways. Fëanáro was never what one could call polite: rude, no, more like very matter of fact. Unlike Nolofinwë, Fëanáro would charm his victim, bring those sitting across from him close to him, into his orbit where that notorious Fëanorian magnetism would lay a spell, or so it was said. Where Nolofinwë was like a warm breeze, causing the offender to smile and forever want to be loyal, Fëanáro was like fire, causing at once discomfort in the victim as well as the strangest of desires. Arafinwë, on the other hand, was quiet, listening, planting a few words and ideas here and there, subtly directing the offender as he or she spoke, until the victim finished talking little knowing that very discreetly Arafinwë had his target following the few crumbs Arafinwë left. All obtained what they desired.

 

Findekáno’s thoughts were interrupted by his father’s voice. There was no anger in it. Worse, there was disappointment.

 

“Findekáno, son,” Nolofinwë paused, at a loss for words.

 

Findekáno made to speak but Nolofinwë silenced him with a wave of his hand. “No Astaldo,” Nolofinwë spoke, recovering his thoughts, “I need you to hear me.”

 

That was unlike Nolofinwë with his children. While he usually did not have the patience to hear others speak, it was the opposite with his children. Findekáno noticed his father inattentively turning a green stone in his hand, a stone Findekáno had given him when he was but a child. The distance between the hopes a father has of a child and a grown son are vast, Findekáno considered, the gap widening because of Findekáno’s choices.

 

“I do not understand you Findekáno,” Nolofinwë spoke, his tone a mere whisper, his disappointment and pain evident in his drawn features. He did not look directly at Findekáno. Instead Nolofinwë looked towards a window that opened to a private garden, his butterfly garden, cared for by Nolofinwë as a child and his mother because he loved to watch the dance of butterflies. “I used to look out that window as a child every season, in anticipation of the return of the butterflies. Something about their flight, the whimsy of their games, and the temporality of their lives fascinated me. They were, they are industrious and circumspect; yet also bold and colorful. Little did I know then as a child that what drew me to them were the qualities my sons would possess.”

 

Nolofinwë paused his eyes falling upon his eldest son. “I do not understand your brother.”

 

These words caught Findekáno by surprise. Nolofinwë was not one to speak ill of one sibling or family member to another.

 

“Nor do I understand you. Both of my sons have been given, both of you have lots in this long life that others envy. Yet it is not enough for either of you.”

 

Findekáno was going to protest his father’s accusations but Nolofinwë did not allow him to speak.

 

“I know what you would say _yonya_ , my son, but still, I do not understand. There are rifts that divide us as a people,” Nolofinwë paused, looking now more intently at the rock in his hand, “indeed as family; yet we have choices. I choose to make this place into a world more to my liking, a place better for all of us. I know that aspects of our culture chafe, confine, are in fact utterly detestable, but there remain gifts, aspects of light that remain with us whether we are on the other side or this side of the Veil.”

 

Nolofinwë took Findekáno’s hand and placed the green stone in it, while eyeing the green stone around Findekáno’s neck. Slowly, cautiously, Nolofinwë raised his hand to touch the stone worn by his son, as if acknowledging the giver. “Much have we wrought upon ourselves, much pain, in the search for perfection. You know your grandfather inculcated in us a repulsion for such paths, but as our time here stretches, I am afraid that perfection corrals us, compels us…”

 

Nolofinwë was apologizing to Findekáno. Findekáno wanted to grab his father, shake him by the shoulders, tell him, no it is not his fault. It was all Findekáno’s fault, _not you atto, not anything you have done,_ he cried out silently. But Nolofinwë was taking responsibility for his sons, for Findekáno’s inexcusable and selfish ways.

 

Nolofinwë continued, “Eärnur’s words, his beautiful words are burned in my heart. Do you remember them?”

 

Findekáno nodded his head. Of course he remembered his uncle’s poem, tribute to his and Maitimo’s love.

 

Nolofinwë repeated a verse:

 

_“This pledge attentively I view’d,_

_And sparkling as I held it near,_

_Methought one drop the stone bedew’d,_

_And, ever since, I’ve lov’d a tear...”_

“You love him,” Nolofinwë finally spoke that which was held between them, like a void.

 

“I do,” Findekáno replied, his voice breaking with emotion.

 

“And yet it has not been easy,” Nolofinwë asked of his son.

 

“No it has not,” Findekáno answered hoarsely.

 

“He is loyal to Fëanáro as you are loyal to me, and this is an increasing impediment,” Nolofinwë whispered, “an impediment to your love?”

 

“It is,” Findekáno murmured, unshed tears making him pause.

 

“And Elenwë? She soothes you, eases your soul?”

 

“She does.”

 

“Yet there is more, is there not son? You see, I am trying to understand.”

 

Findekáno could not hold his father’s searching gaze. He turned his face away, focusing on the rock now in his hands. This part of the tale, this part that Nolofinwë would tell would also reveal that part of Findekáno that was selfish or bold as Findekáno liked to tell it, a man who took immense pleasure in the physicality of life.

 

“Yet you do not understand yourself,” Nolofinwë continued, drawing back from his son, sitting back in his seat.

 

Findekáno looked up in surprise at his father. He had not expected that.

 

Nolofinwë studied the helpless blue eyes that gazed back at him. His son, like a book to him, yet Findekáno did not fully know himself, always a parent’s dilemma. How do you reveal the essence of a child to himself? “You know it is wrong that you continue this affair with Elenwë and yet you do not stop it. You do not feel compelled to do so for you selfishly choose to keep close to you a love that makes you feel alive, that gives you possibility.” Nolofinwë grabbed his son’s hand with the rock in it. “Findekáno ever since you were a child you were pulled to the physical world. You explored it with your senses, so recklessly, like a moth to candlelight. There is no shame in fulfilling the desires of your will, of your body, but _yonya_ , you do so by betraying your brother. This I try to understand but cannot, understand how you are willful. Yet you hurt, your heart’s true desire is maligned by this world, that we… that I should pose such a barrier to your love with Nelyo.” Nolofinwë’s voice broke, overcome with his own emotion. “For this I beg your forgiveness my son,” he spoke, tears falling down his fair face.

 

And there it was. Findekáno put his head on his father’s desk, feeling his father’s hands upon his head. Findekáno cried, his torn heart felt mended momentarily. The warmth of his father’s essence enveloped him, a bright warm breeze, gentle and strong, always there. Findekáno could not imagine himself without that intrinsic part of him. He had always been Findekáno through his father. Findekáno understood that he existed only because of him, his mother: their light was the center of him. They were fundamental to him. They were not beings existing in isolation though Valarin emphasis on individuality had driven a wedge in that part of the elven psyche. Findekáno felt Nolofinwë draw upon that net that separated them, tear a hole, allowing starlight to fill him. They were all starlight, made of the essence of the stars, of all, whole. And then it burst. Suddenly, Findekáno felt himself returned to his body, mundane. Findekáno raised his head, his body reminding him of the now. He thought of Elenwë and Turukáno, his father, his mother. And yet he could not make himself give her up. No. He felt more driven to her. How? How could he turn away from his father’s words; from the very person who was such a part of him? Instead his body burned more for her, why?

 

Nolofinwë felt the turmoil in his son, the tensing of his muscles. Anairë had told him of hers and his mother’s role, their supplications to the Valar. This was a part of it, but their pleadings, the divine intervention would not work without an existing thread. This he could understand, yet both his sons had choices set before them. The irony, Nolofinwë mused, that the Valar would tease those elemental threads that existed beyond the Veil, but therein lay Findekáno’s dilemma and Turukáno’s: Elenwë was irrevocably bound to Nolofinwë’s house, and knowing this Vairë interceded, weaving on behalf of Indis and Anairë, picking at the elemental threads. There was no way another story could have been woven, so close were the threads of these souls. Nolofinwë did not understand it all, could not fully see it, though he understood that Vairë tried not to weave Maitimo and Findekáno’s tale. Life, creation, had other ideas, forcing hers, all their hands. This displeased the Valar and Nolofinwë knew it. It was why he, and Fëanáro for that matter, did not encourage Findekáno and Maitimo’s love. Little would any parent want to bring the Valar’s wrath upon a child. It was up to Elenwë then. She was the strongest light, the thick thread, life giver. For his sons, Nolofinwë could not see how anything good could come of their path. It would not end until she decided. She pulled his sons into her orbit, like Anairë had pulled him. Nolofinwë had not cared she was betrothed to another nor had she. Passion and love were eccentric companions.

 

Nolofinwë stood and walked before his son, holding his arms out. Findekáno stood, wanting to collapse into his father’s embrace, his father’s strong arms around him. He would always feel safest within these arms. “Atto,” Findekáno breathed, knowing he did not deserve such love.

 

)()()()()(

 

Findekáno escaped the Palace at the mingling of the lights, leaving his father entombed within to deal with the intrigue. Atanalcar had cornered Nolofinwë as Findekáno and his father returned to attend public hearings regarding land use in unassigned territories near Tirion. Nolofinwë had no patience for Atanalcar’s intrigue and loaded words. He let him know as much, leaving Atanalcar with mouth agape, face drained of blood, such had Nolofinwë’s words stung; too much like Fëanáro, Atanalcar thought spitefully as he watched Nolofinwë’s tall form disappear into Court.

 

Atanalcar observed Findekáno leave the palace hurriedly. Nolofinwë’s eldest, he was a stain upon them all. Who did he think he was, wielding his sex like a child wields a toy, openly and wantonly? Atanalcar had heard rumors of Findekáno and Nelyafinwë, but he could not verify them. Proof of such immorality would be a powerful sword to wield and so Atanalcar and his cronies tried their best to find evidence, anything they could use publicly against Finwë and his ilk.

 

Atanalcar crept into court after composing himself. He despised them, the sons of Finwë, but it was Lalwen who was speaking. Ah Lalwen, Atanalcar mused, licking his lips lasciviously. With his eyes he undressed her, examining her long, dark hair bound modestly in braids that revealed her long slender neck. She was a prize. Tall, pale skinned beauty, with the raven hair so treasured by the Noldor. She was wasted on that silly poet. Indeed, Atanalcar sniffed, a lady like him should submit to one like him. The irony of his own desires that burned within him and his hate of Findekáno was not lost on him. Indeed if he admitted it, he was furiously jealous of the manner in which the children and grandchildren of Finwë cared not for the austere mores the Valandur had constructed.

 

“If I were you, I would show respect due to your superior,” a voice beside him commanded.

 

Atanalcar turned to find keen blue eyes staring down at him. Arafinwë. Atanalcar bowed his head but did not tear his grey eyes away from the blue ones that held him. He felt a strong hand grab his arm, pulling him out from the benches.

 

“You can make a fuss and draw attention to yourself or you can exit quietly,” Arafinwë warned, whispering into Atanalcar’s ear.

 

Atanalcar had no choice. He would not draw attention to himself, allow Arafinwë to embarrass him. Silently they exited Court. Arafinwë steered him into a smaller, more private antechamber. Any semblance of respectability was gone. Atanalcar found himself thrown hard against a wall. Atanalcar tried to extricate himself from Arafinwë’s hold, but the tall golden-haired son of Finwë was much too strong.

 

“If I ever catch you looking upon my sister in such a way, or any other lady for that matter, I will cut out your tongue,” Arafinwë growled.

 

Atanalcar was scared, but he tried to conceal it. “So Finwion your true character is revealed,” Atanalcar spat out, his eyes betraying his hesitancy. “You hide behind your quietness, ever the gentleman, but you are like your brothers. All of you, savages.”

 

Arafinwë laughed, taking Atanalcar by surprise. With a feral grin he stared down upon the smaller Noldo, quietly whispering, his mouth pressed up against Atanalcar’s ear. “I am a savage. Do not forget.” Arafinwë let Atanalcar feel his strength, his hands digging into the other elf’s arms, his broad chest pressed up against the more slender elf.

 

Atanalcar collapsed in pain. “Let me go!” he cried out.

 

Arafinwë released him, throwing him to the ground. He gifted Atanalcar a brilliant smile and saying no more, turned and left Atanalcar groveling on the ground.

 

Atanalcar looked in the direction Arafinwë exited. He would make him pay, all of them, the sons of Finwë and their children. They were a pox on Eldarin society.

 

)()()()()(

 

Findekáno found himself headed in an unexpected direction. He had a gift for Elenwë, something he thought she would certainly enjoy. He smiled to himself. Yet he originally had no intention to see her at this moment, but he felt compelled to see her, no matter the cost. The package was safely hidden within his leather satchel that hung across his chest.

 

The rain came, softly at first, then the sound of thunder and the silver night was splintered by lightning, a rare thing in Aman. He ran under the overhang of Cemendur’s townhome. What was he doing? How would he explain to Cemendur and his wife Erdëissë what he was doing there? While they welcomed Turukáno courting their niece, would they be so welcoming of Findekáno? Cemendur was ambitious, Findekáno reasoned, yet ambitious enough that if the notorious eldest son of Nolofinwë showed up at his door seeking an audience with Elenwë? Elenwë’s own father was much less strict. Nolofinwë liked him, called him a sensible fellow who wanted to see his daughter happy and sent her to Tirion knowing that she had greater opportunity there. Cemendur on the other hand, Nolofinwë referred to as insufferable.

 

Findekáno collected his wits and knocked on the door…

 

)()()()(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I follow the Silmarillion version in which Orodreth is Arafinwë’s son. I lived with that version for so long, well its hard to see him any other way. 
> 
> [2] Regarding height. From the many writings of Tolkien we can conclude that Argon was the tallest of Fingolfin’s children (Shibboleth), though I do not include him in this story (something I might rethink when I revisit this story). Thingol is said to be the tallest. Likewise both Fëanor and Fingolfin are described as tall, just who is the tallest well that is up to each of us to imagine. Though I like to think of elf heights as metaphors handed down in stories retold for particular characters. Returning to Tolkien’s writings, it seems, though, from the various (and at times inconsistent) sources that Thingol is tallest, then Argon, Turgon, arguably Maedhros follows and well the rest is just speculation.  
> This post does a nice job of summing up the multiple sources we can draw ideas on appearance.  
> http: / / askfeanor. tumblr.com / post / 62160124465 / headcanon-on-feanors-appearance
> 
> Onónëamil- sister mother (aunt)
> 
>  
> 
> [3] “Historically, a town house was the city residence of a noble or wealthy family”


	7. The Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta’d. Apologies for the mistakes I miss. 
> 
> Story Summary: After a night out with Findaráto, Amarië, and Elenwë, Findekáno ends up sharing a night of passion with Elenwë, his brother Turukáno’s beloved. Findekáno feels awful about it, but not so awful that he regrets it. Findekáno confesses to Maitimo, though neither is sure how Findekáno’s transgression with Elenwë will impact their relationship. Their ambivalence is more symbolic of the growing tensions and distance between the Houses of Nolofinwë and Fëanáro. The growing tensions are not only within Finwë’s family. There are Noldorin nobles, headed by Atanalacar, who like the status quo, and do not appreciate the liberalization of policies that the younger Finwions are heralding. Set against this backdrop of a crumbling social order, Anairë finds out about Elenwë and Findekáno’s indiscretion and decides to intervene, partly because she feels guilty, believing that she unwittingly put Elenwë on Findekáno’s path. We also find out that these tensions are reflective of deeper religious/spiritual beliefs that are dividing all the elves as well as the Noldor. In a previous chapter we meet Almáriel, Turukáno’s lover, who is representative of the older spiritual traditions that harken back to times before elves made the Great Journey. Indeed both Turukáno and Findekáno’s characters reflect the public and private dichotomies of elven life that are coming to a head. This uncertainty reflects the widening gulf between Maitimo and Findekáno, though both remember earlier easier times, offering a glimpse of more innocent times between the two. The immediate aftermath for Elenwë with both Turukáno and Findekáno plays out in the lives of those around them, though it appears that the number of folks who know if their indiscretion is more numerable.

**Chapter 7** : **The Gift**

 

Findekáno collected his wits and knocked on the door. An attendant opened the door, recognizing him immediately.

 

“Lord Findekáno! How may I help you?” the attendant responded.

 

“I am here to see the Lady Elenwë,” Findekáno replied, the rain driving at an angle, soaking him. “May I,” he inquired, as the attendant stood not knowing how to reply.

 

“My lord of course, please come out of the rain,” the attendant finally declared, gathering himself, though still a bit hesitant. “My Lord and Lady are not home,” he continued as he escorted Findekáno into the home. Findekáno looked for Elenwë. She stood at the top of the stairs that came into the entry room, her mouth open in shock.

 

Findekáno was soaking wet, his hair drenched. Smiling up at Elenwë he removed his cloak, handing it to the attendant. The attendant made to take his satchel but Findekáno refused him, indicating he wanted to keep it with him.

 

Composing herself, Elenwë ran down the stairs. “My Lord Findekáno, what do we owe this unexpected visit?” she declared reaching the entryway. “Oh you are soaked,” Elenwë observed. “Sarnano, do we have any dry clothes that we can lend our Lord?”

 

“I, we might, but your uncle and lady are not home and Amarië is with them.”

 

Elenwë placed a reassuring hand on the attendant’s shoulder. “Do no worry Sarnano. I will let my uncle and lady know that I insisted we could not turn out Lord Findekáno in such inclement weather. Do you not agree?”

 

“I guess, yes, very well my lady, you speak wisely,” Sarnano responded, trying his hardest not to turn a suspicious eye towards Findekáno. He was less concerned with Elenwë’s virtue than he was with one of Finwë’s brood coming around. Sarnano excused himself hurrying into the private rooms beyond the large greeting room. A warm fire was blazing in a library adjacent to the greeting room.

 

Elenwë could not keep from grinning at her unexpected visitor. Findekáno did not take his eyes off of her. “I am pleased you are here. Did you know my uncle and aunt would be away?”

 

“I did not,” Findekáno replied his voice revealing his pleasure at the unexpected news.

 

“You dared cross my uncle to see me?” Elenwë replied, her cheeks warming at the thought of Findekáno’s nerve.

 

“That was my intention, but seeing they are not here,” Findekáno trailed off as Elenwë inspected his wet clothes.

 

“We must get these off immediately,” Elenwë spoke, eyeing Findekáno openly.

 

Findekáno took off his outer tunic handing it to Elenwë who held her hand out to him. It was soaked. _Sarnano best be coming back soon_ , Elenwë thought. “The rest of it,” she prodded him, poking at his under shirt.

 

“As you command,” Findekáno winked. This shirt was harder to remove, as it was tighter, the wet fabric clinging to him, refusing to budge.

 

“Oh dear!” Elenwë heard a female voice behind her, Yáraníssë, the female house attendant. Shocked by the sight of a male removing his clothes, Yáraníssë fumbled with her words and steps.

 

“Come help us,” Elenwë directed.

 

The elder elf complied, trying to get a hold of Findekáno’s undershirt without touching his skin.

 

“No timidity now Yáraníssë, we must get our Lord out of this wet underclothes or he will be find himself unwell. You would not want that now would you?” Elenwë prodded, hoping to stoke Yáraníssë’s mothering instincts.

 

“No we would not,” Yáraníssë replied, trying not to stare at Findekáno’s form.

 

Finally, the two peeled the undershirt off.

 

Behind them they could hear Sarnano grumbling. He brought Findekáno a towel and offered to escort him to a washroom. “I believe you will be more comfortable changing there. I have left trousers and a shirt for you though it is only a sleep shirt as I do not think we have any tunic large enough for you.” Sarnano was annoyed, more annoyed that he had to serve a Noldo lout.

 

“That will do, thank you Sarnano,” Findekáno replied. Turning to Yáraníssë, he asked, gifting her a wonderfully hypnotic smile, “Can you set these wet boots and clothes by the fire? I do hope I can at least leave with my boots as dry as possible.”

 

“Of course my lord, though if it pleases your clothes will dry quicker in the kitchen on the hearth hooks,” Yáraníssë replied, taking Findekáno’s clothes. 

 

“Whatever will do,” Findekáno smiled, following Sarnano to the washroom, gifting Elenwë an obvious wink. _What was it with winks this day,_ Elenwë thought to herself?

 

A boot rack was placed near the fire in anticipation of such a need because of the rain. Yáraníssë placed his boots over the iron, warmed by the fire.

 

“Yáraníssë, please bring us some food and drink. We will take it in the library.”

 

Yáraníssë paused, like Sarnano, wanting to remind Elenwë that she should not be alone with a gentleman. But she thought the better for it. She had to at least offer this prince some food and she supposed he had to dry up a bit.  

 

Elenwë found Sarnano, indicating he should escort Findekáno into the library.

 

Sarnano protested, “Now my lady, you mustn’t be alone with a gentleman.”

 

“So some would say Sarnano, but I am not throwing out one of the Noldor’s Princes out into inclement weather. That would bring a worst kind of gossip on my uncle’s house. One that he would not appreciate.”

 

The tall, lithe Vanya attendant nodded his head in understanding. He was not convinced that Elenwë should be attending to this Prince alone, though he was not scandalized by the idea.  Behind them they heard Findekáno emerge from the washroom. His damp hair was unbraided, falling unencumbered to his waste. Sarnano studied Findekáno. He truly had magnificent hair. The Noldor were certainly large ones, especially the Nolofinwions, though they, the lot of Finwë’s brood were entirely too broad for Sarnano’s taste. Now a more lithe elf, that was more proper, Sarnano thought. It was as if these Noldor were bred for sex, their physicality was so prominent. He had never truly seen one of Finwë’s brood so close. The undershirt left little to the imagination, cut of a thin material and open in the front. The muscles on this son of Nolofinwë were simply unreal, he thought to himself. He knew Finwë’s sons and grandsons were broad and notoriously strong, but up close, well it was impressive and distasteful at once.

 

Elenwë coughed, trying to get a Sarnano’s attention, but he was too lost in his careful study of Findekáno.

 

Finally Findekáno interrupted Sarnano’s inspection. “Do I meet with your approval Sarnano?”

 

Sarnano turned a deep shade of red, but he was not known to be plainspoken for not. “Yes and no,” he finally replied.

 

“How so?” Findekáno inquired, a single eyebrow raised in surprise at this elf’s manners.

 

“You are bigger and taller than I had imagined, unlike a Vanya. It is beautiful in its own way,” Sarnano replied, openly inspecting Findekáno. Sarnano was quickly changing his mind regarding form. Maybe it was not so bad that he was tall and strong, not so bad at all.

 

Findekáno inclined his head, acknowledging Sarnano’s complement.

 

“Be on your way then,” Elenwë interrupted, practically shooing Sarnano away.

 

Sarnano kept turning back to look into the room as he walked away, glancing at Findekáno.

 

“Finally!” Elenwë shouted, falling back onto a large leather couch in front of the fireplace. Behind the couch was a desk and to the sides more seating to gather round the fire and read and contemplate and work. She giggled as she looked at Findekáno who was still shaking his head at Sarnano’s impertinence.

 

“I love Sarnano. He is truly one of a kind.”

 

“That he is,” Findekáno agreed.

 

“So tell me Káno, you came to see me and you have not greeted me properly,” Elenwë reproached him, her legs crossed under her, her arms folded comfortably on her.

 

Findekáno looked at her then stared back out to the hall. The door was purposefully left open.

 

“Just how bold are you?” Elenwë teased.

 

In a split second, Findekáno leapt over the desk onto the couch, shoving her under him and claiming her in a wild kiss. The two kissed for quite a while, legs entwined, the leather creaking and moaning with their movement.

 

Outside the room Yáraníssë stood with a tray of food and drinks. She was starting to hyperventilate. What should she do, but at that very moment, the two lovers split apart.

 

Elenwë saw her and without a show of being caught at something extremely forbidden, and in a cheerful voice to boot, asked Yáraníssë to set the tray on the desk.

 

“My lady,” Yáraníssë made to say as she set the tray on the desk. “Shall I keep you company?”

 

“No you shan’t” Elenwë replied. “I will call you if I need you.”

 

“Of course my lady,” Yáraníssë replied her voice faltering from nerves. She excused herself and ran to the kitchen to fill Sarnano in on what she stumbled upon.

 

Sarnano simply shrugged his shoulders. “What are you to do? I am going to enjoy the evening off. I don’t think the Lady Elenwë will be needing us.”

 

“But,” Yáraníssë responded, indignant that Sarnano would do no more.

 

“And what can we do Yáraníssë, demand that the Noldo Prince leave immediately? I thought we could convince her at first, but seeing this prize of a prince I’ve no doubt of Lady Elenwë’s intentions, and I cannot say I blame her. The youth of today are much more liberal regarding these matters.” Sarnano turned his back to Yáraníssë to complete his tasks. He was looking forward to serving himself a hot drink.

 

“So we are to turn the other way if she takes him to her bed?” Yáraníssë hissed, upset that such a thing just might happen. After all Cemendur, Erdëissë, and Amarië were away for the evening, leaving Elenwë in their care.

 

“Plug your ears,” Sarnano replied sarcastically. “I for one will reward myself by stealing a glance here and there.”

 

Erdëissë kissed her thumb to her lips, warding off Sarnano’s sinful words. “My lord will hear of this and you will be out on the streets” she retorted.

 

“Will I?” Sarnano replied unbothered by Yáraníssë’s threats. “You will tell Cemendur that Lord Findekáno came, that you saw them kissing, and that you did nothing. No wait and that he (possibly) spent the night and had his way with his niece?” Sarnano really could not be bothered. He was Vanya but piety was lost on him.

 

Yáraníssë raised her chin, showing that she thought she was better than Sarnano. Such was the relationship between the two, always bickering. Both were Vanya yet distinct: one a Valadur, the other simply pragmatic. She knew Sarnano was correct. They would simply have to deal with it. She hoped that Cemendur and the others would not return earlier than expected. That did worry her.

 

Sarnano noticed her concern. “Do not worry oh pious one. We will kick him out the back door if need be and _you_ ,” he emphasized these words, “will make sure not a sign of our Lord is left.”

 

“But what if a neighbor tells him they saw the Lord Findekáno?” Yáraníssë asked, wringing her hands.

 

“He came and left, looking for Turukáno. And we could not turn him out so wet. So we gave him dry clothes, dried his boots as best we could. Fed him and saw him on his way. Elenwë was the spirit of propriety, a good Vanya girl.”

 

“Really Sarnano, I wonder at what goes on in that head of yours. You figure out lies too quickly,” Yáraníssë uttered, shaking her head in disapproval.

 

“Thanks to me, you will not lose your position with this family. Now go and make sure you wipe away all the water in the entry way,” Sarnano answered, directing her towards her task with a flick of his hand.

 

Yáraníssë shot him a look that if Sarnano cared would have frozen him in place as she went to collect a mop and bucket.

 

)()()()()(

 

Elenwë and Findekáno sat quietly, watching the fire, drinking a warm cider drink. Elenwë considered how comfortable she felt in his arms; yet as she looked up at Findekáno’s face contemplating the fire she felt that his thoughts were troubled. He would unconsciously sigh, running his free hand through his hair in that way of his that indicated he was working something out in his mind. His other hand was playing with her hair, pausing, as he seemed to consider something particularly challenging.

 

There were words Findekáno wanted to share with Elenwë, of the love in his heart for her; it was however a love that could not fulfill her for his heart was given, indeed entangled with another’s. Why could he not have them both? But he knew that would be unfair to her, to Maitimo. Ah Maitimo, he would never accept sharing him with another despite his cousin’s ability to mask his jealousy and hurt. Findekáno remembered his father’s words to him: _“And Elenwë? She soothes you, eases your soul?”_ Elenwë did comfort him, but was that enough? Findekáno’s thoughts turned to his conversation with his mother, _“And what of Elenwë? Would you give your life for her?”_ Findekáno mulled over his reply to his mother, _“I would…though I cannot say if I was asked to choose between the two [Maitimo and Elenwë] that I would, but I do know that I will never forsake Maitimo.”_ Findekáno considered, though he tried not to think on it too deeply, that Elenwë did indeed love Turukáno more than him. This hurt, yet he had to admit he understood it. Was he not in the same position? Findekáno knew Turukáno would be devoted, would love Elenwë completely. She deserved that after all, and she could give Turukáno everything he desired and more, much more than a sundered heart; but what about him? Could Maitimo give Findekáno all that Findekáno desired? It was impossible. They were their fathers’ sons, representatives of the King. Their love could not be, not openly.

 

Choices, his father had reminded him. Findekáno had choices. And Findekáno chose, chose to throw caution to the wind and seek that which he desired, if only to fill that ache in his heart, but there was more, something else drawing him. Findekáno knew that part of what drew them to each other was the illicitness, the forbidden nature of his and Elenwë’s affair.  As Findekáno stared into the fire, he felt an anger fill him, anger at what he considered the obscene morality bandied about by men whose only interest was in maintaining and growing their power. And the Valar? Certainly they were fallible, but in whose interests was it to prop them up as infallible? Yet many, indeed most turned a blind eye to the conflict that emerged from the Valar themselves. Were not Manwë and Oromë of different minds regarding the Laws as different as Tulkas and Mandos? Indeed Yavanna, Vána, and Nessa often raised their voices against what they perceived as Vairë and Námo’s indifference to the conflicts of the Firstborn. Was not Varda often silent, silent because she grieved her children’s loss of the stars, though kept her thoughts close to her in deference to Manwë?

 

It was moments like these that stirred fire and passion within Findekáno, kindled defiance in him, and a desire to be free of these constraints. He looked down at Elenwë who lay in his arms, her own eyes lost in the dance of the fire. If this was not to be, and certainly he did not believe this affair between them would survive the turning of seasons, then he would offer himself fully to it while it kindled. It would have to be enough for now.

 

“I have something for you,” Findekáno spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. “Though I certainly did not think my opportunity to gift it to you would be so easy.”

 

“You do?” Elenwë replied, shifting in his arms, enjoying the intimacy of his body next to hers. “What is it?” she inquired.

 

Findekáno bit his lip, suppressing a grin. “It is, shall we say, a surprise.”

 

“Then surprise me!” Elenwë responded, more animated, sitting up and looking around to see if said surprise was anywhere near her. She spotted his satchel, eyeing it.

 

Findekáno paused, watching Elenwë look about the study. “I would rather it really be a surprise.”

 

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Elenwë retorted impatiently, her arms crossed.

 

Findekáno looked about the room and towards the open room. “If we could only have more privacy,” he finally declared.

 

“Then let us go up to my room,” Elenwë offered, surprising Findekáno.

 

“Are you sure Elenwë? What of Cemendur’s attendants? What of Cemendur himself?”

 

Elenwë waived off Findekáno’s concerns, hurriedly standing up. “ Sarnano and Yáraníssë will say nothing of it. They cannot well tell my uncle they allowed you in here and you spent the night and all that entails.” She gifted him a wicked smile, her hands on her hips.

 

Findekáno raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He was enjoying Elenwë’s boldness.

 

“And my family will not return until well after the light of Laurelin rises.” Elenwë continued, walking towards the hallway to head up the stairs. She picked up Findekáno’s satchel, “I’d like to see just what it is you brought me,” she added pulling the leather strap over her.

 

“Then show me to your room and we shall see just what I have for you,” Findekáno responded as he stood behind Elenwë pulling her into him, moving her hair aside to kiss her neck.

 

Elenwë untangled herself from Findekáno and ran up the stairs, Findekáno following closely behind her.

 

Yáraníssë kissed her thumb to her lips as she heard the two run up the stairs to Elenwë’s room. Returning to her room, she paced the length of it, willing herself to calm. What were the times coming to when Laws meant nothing?

 

)()()()(

 

“Come here,” Findekáno spoke.

 

“Why?” she asked a sinful smile curling her lips. She knew what he wanted. What they both wanted was illicit, immoral some would accuse; yet it was splendor and light. They sought the purest light, to bathe in that bodily ceremony that transcended borders, transcended fallible gods.

 

“Because I need you. I want to fill you, feel you,” Findekáno whispered, using his strength to pull her against him. Always, his boldness. He held a glass sculpture in his hand.

 

It looked like a… “Is that what I think it is?” Elenwë asked, her eyes looking over the glass piece.

 

He smiled wickedly raising and waving the solid glass phallus in front of her. “It is made by the finest glass artisans, curved just so, with a perfect girth to pleasure any one seeking it.”

 

“Oh,” she breathed unsure what he intended. She had heard of such devices but never seen one. “How, what?” she asked, “but it seems small.”

 

Findekáno laughed at Elenwë’s honesty. “Trust me,” he replied, moving them onto her bed, placing himself behind her.

 

She could feel the glass form pressed up against the front of her and the length of him pressed behind her. Her breath was coming more shallowly, in anticipation. “I do,” she breathed. She fully trusted him, trusted him to give her pain, pleasure, all at once. She trusted him, but Findekáno had other pleasures in mind, pleasures she had not imagined.

 

He trailed kisses along her neck as he slowly undid the clasps of her gown. He pulled down the sleeves exposing her shoulders. Pausing he slipped off his own top, quickly undoing the lacings to his trousers to remove them. Elenwë followed suit, slipping out of her gown. Their impatience caused them both to laugh, but the heat from their naked forms soon grew like a fire, Findekáno placing himself behind her.

 

Elenwë felt the length of him against her. Exhilarating! She felt his fingers explore her from behind. “There?” she thought aloud, hesitant.

 

“I will stop if you wish.”

 

“I do not know,” she whispered her desire and curiosity coming together, rendering her unsure yet willing.

 

“It will bring you pleasure, but I will stop if you wish it,” Findekáno whispered.

 

“No it’s just that, I have never…”

 

“Indeed there were…are many things you had never done. I promise only pleasure,” Findekáno assured her, his voice betraying his desire.

 

She shook her head in agreement, feeling him explore her from behind, his finger finding his way in. At first it was uncomfortable, “It feels strange,” she said. “Are you sure this is pleasurable?” She turned her face to look into his eyes, eyes full of desire for her.

 

“Quite,” he responded, gifting her one of his confident grins.

 

She watched him wet his fingers and then she felt his slick fingers enter her from behind. With his other hand he tickled her nipples eliciting a gasp of pleasure. Findekáno proceeded to kiss the back of her neck, slowly trailing kisses down her back. His finger kept massaging her from the inside, stretching, until two fingers claimed her. With his other hand, he trailed a path down her stomach, until his fingers found her soft hair, felt her wetness, and then he plunged his fingers inside her. Her body writhed as he claimed her from both openings, his fingers tracing the wall between the two entries, teasing.

 

“Eru!” Elenwë cried out, “Is this possible?”

 

“It is,” Findekáno whispered as he continuously worked to stretch her with one hand and explored her womanhood with the other. “You are ready,” he whispered, his breath halting, broken with wanton need. She felt him tease her backside with his shaft so large and hard. He pressed his tip inside her. She did not pull away. She was curious, her need, her desire like a fire wanting to consume him, envelop him. He pushed himself in her deeper, whispering, “Relax, I had you stretched out more with my fingers.”

 

Elenwë leaned back against Findekáno. He traced her nipples with one hand and masturbated her with the other, teasing with his fingers in and out. It was a different, strange feeling, him inside her, slowly entering, moving inside her, from behind. And then she felt all of him inside her. It was unlike what she had experienced before- tight, a different fire, yet the same. It was as if desire wrapped itself up her back, buzzing, felt it in the back of her throat, the hum, desire, different, yet all the same--ecstasy. He started moving in her, the sensation of him different, but so damn good. She cried out unable to contain the fire scorching her from within.

 

“Are you well?” Findekáno paused, folding over her as her head was buried in the pillow in front of her, her bottom raised against him.

 

Elenwë could not answer. She nodded her head; her breath was coming fast and hard. She pushed back hard on him, willing to feel him wholly in her. He gasped, quickening his movements. Findekáno picked Elenwë’s torso up towards him, hugging him against her, never stopping moving in and out. She felt his chest against her naked back, the tensing of his muscles release and pull as he moved in her.

 

He reached behind him and brought something before her. “Here,” he whispered, his voice husky.

 

“What…?” Elenwë breathed barely able to enunciate the word.

 

“Use this-“ his voice broke with a moan as she pressed herself hard against him.

 

Her eyes widened. What did he want her to do?

 

Findekáno sat back bringing her with him, continuing his slow dance. He was getting to the point he could not control himself so he slowed. With his other hand he teased her with the glass toy. She understood. She placed his hand over his and together they slipped the glass phallus into her as he moved in and out of her from behind.

 

She whimpered, the feel of the glass moving in and out, of him inside her, and that spot in the wall that separated the glass from his girth lighting up, like fire, like a bud blooming, willing itself towards beauty.

 

“Oh Eru!” she moaned. The sounds coming from her disturbed her yet the more prurient and wild her fire, the more she knew she was descending, ascending into ecstasy as she moved the glass phallus in and out while Findekáno filled her from behind. Oh why had she never known this was possible?

 

“I cannot,” Elenwë breathed not being able to fully speak. She was overcome.

 

“Leave it in,” he expertly advised, making sure the phallus was deep inside her as he picked up his rhythm feeling her opening to him. Findekáno heard her, her wildness, the sounds of one that has broken the barrier of pleasure not be contained, confined.

 

Elenwë whimpered, cried out, taking control of her pleasure and need. “Harder…more…” There would be no stopping the ultimate ceremony of pleasure.

 

Findekáno complied. “Like this?” he asked, enunciating the ritual words of sex, bold, stripped.

 

“Oh Káno harder, yes!” She cried out finding her voice, high priestess of desire. “Káno harder, please, lose yourself” she demanded.

 

Findekáno complied, driving into her harder, confident her body was in bloom. He rode her hard, fast, deep. Her cries came in waves, guttural, primal. He lost himself in the sensation of sex, crying out, his own voice seeking and riding the wave of pleasure. The two bodies sanctified, beyond absolution, beyond the profane. They were loud, their moans of pleasure like a feral song. She cried out the bliss of her coming, reaching climax announced, her body pulsating, constricting, expanding, finding time and loosing it at once. He felt his penis thicken, bulge, that moment before climax, his seed spill out into her, her wall constricting, beating like a heart around him, she was writhing the climax was so overwhelming, bringing him to ecstasy. They reached into the divine, existing for a moment in the infinity and timelessness of creation.

 

Elenwë fell forward as the waves of pleasure slowly drew back, the tide of sex pulling back. He fell on her, their bodies catching their breath as one. Slowly they returned to their bodies, the beauty of sex manifested. She was still moaning, moaning with pleasure as it crashed more gently upon her, her body jerking involuntarily with it. Findekáno caressed her, kissed her as she came down from her high. Held her closely, assuring her this was good, this was life, this was what her body created and did for her. Gently he turned her over and reached down and pulled out the glass phallus.

 

Elenwë did not say a word. She could not. She was overcome. Her hands, her body, were trembling.

 

The glass slipped out, wet with her. He set it aside and greedily tasted her wetness on his fingers, salty and sweet, earthen and ocean. “You are made of _Ilu_ ,” Findekáno whispered.

 

“Káno,” Elenwë finally spoke, her voice trembling, willing him to hold her close to him. She had experienced something, something she did not know was possible, yet here she was wrapped in his arms, safe, having crossed back from an ecstasy so pure her body dissipated. She was reassembling. After a few more moments of catching their breaths, she whispered, “It is as if I crossed a line, broke through a veil and became light. Nothing else matters, nothing and I was soaring. My body left behind and yet so present and I felt you…I felt you claim all of me…”the words rushed out.

 

He laughed quietly. “Oh Elenwë that is ecstasy. It is a gift, oh Eru what a gift it is.”

 

“Oh Káno and you?”

 

“What do you think?” he asked

 

“I think,” she paused biting her lower lip, “I know you enjoyed it.”

 

“I became light with you Elenwë. I traveled with you, my love, with your divinity.”

 

“Oh how beautiful,” Elenwë whispered. “It is the closest to ceremony, to exaltation I have come,” Elenwë paused, considering her words as if she was revealing a secret to herself. “It was more than that.”

 

Findekáno turned her around to face him. Beads of sweat still clung to his face, his hair wet with exertion. He was content. Her own body was bathed in sweat and their lovemaking.

 

“Would you have given me this gift if my uncle had been home?” Elenwë asked, curious about Findekáno’s original intentions.

 

“I do not know,” he answered thoughtfully. “But I am glad I found away,” Findekáno concluded, provoking a chuckle from Elenwë.

 

“So am I,” Elenwë replied, studying Findekáno’s eyes intently. “Blue eyes are best with dark hair,” she offered.

 

“Blue eyes are best with gold,” Findekáno countered. He pulled her close to him as he settled himself in a more comfortable position. “I am overtired. I need to close my eyes. Do we have time for this?”

 

Elenwë considered how much time had passed. Her uncle and aunt would be returning at the peak of Laurelin’s light. “We do,” she decided.

 

She settled into him as both, overcome with the need for sleep, closed their eyes and drifted into sleep.

 

)()()()()(

 

Yáraníssë knocked on Elenwë’s door. She heard nothing.

 

Sarnano who stood behind her whispered, “Knock louder.”

 

She knocked again. No answer. “What should I do?” she asked, Findekáno’s dry clothes and boots in her hands.

 

Sarnano moved her aside and knocked even louder. No answer. Frowning, he checked to see if the door was open. He turned the knob and found that it was. Carefully, he opened the door a crack motioning to Yáraníssë. “Call for our lady,” he urged.

 

“My lady,” Yáraníssë announced. Still nothing.

 

“Go in,” Sarnano spoke, no longer keeping his voice hushed.

 

“No!” Yáraníssë replied indignantly, kissing her thumb to her lips.

 

Sarnano rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Then I shall enter the room.” Sarnano made to move Yáraníssë aside, but the maiden stopped him shaking her head, her eyes wide with the idea that Sarnano would spy the Lady Elenwë indisposed.

 

“I will go in,” Yáraníssë replied, her voice revealing her discomfort. As she opened the door further, she called again in a loud voice, “Lady Elenwë?” No answer. “What if they have gone?” Yáraníssë turned to ask Sarnano.

 

“Then there is nothing for it,” Sarnano replied, pushing Yáraníssë from behind so the latter tumbled into the room.

 

Elenwë and Findekáno had not left. They were sleeping deeply, eyes closed, lost to the world, such had been their spiritual and physical exertion. Laurelin’s light filtered through the windows in the room illuminating the resplendent bodies of the two elves. Yáraníssë eyes widened at the scene before her: body parts, legs, tangled, hair, naked forms. She turned her face away and announced more loudly. “My lady.”

 

Finally, Elenwë emerged from her deep sleep, too overcome with it to react in surprise. “Yáraníssë, thank you,” she paused, uncomfortable with the awkward situation.

 

Yáraníssë did not turn to face Elenwë. She quickly laid Findekáno’s clothes and boots on a chair in the room and without turning to look at the lovers hastily made her exit. As she closed the door behind her, Yáraníssë tumbled into Sarnano who had obviously been spying.

 

“Did you like what you saw?” He asked Yáraníssë, trailing her as she descended the stairs into the lower floor towards the kitchen.

 

“I did not see anything,” she spat back, a scowl on her face. Her hands clutched her skirt as she lifted it to swiftly descend the stairs. She could feel Sarnano close behind her, knowing he was wearing a smirk.

 

“Oh no? How unbelievable,” he spoke, drawing out his words. “I saw much, though I must admit my eyes were drawn to a certain Prince’s form,” Sarnano continued, knowing that these words would incite Yáraníssë. He saw her tense up, practically running into the kitchen. She was certainly going to give him a piece of her mind.

 

Yáraníssë spun around to face Sarnano, the two now in the kitchen. “You are a degenerate!” she cried out.

 

“But did you see him, his large shaft?” Sarnano replied, wearing a smirk.

 

“You did not see that!” Yáraníssë scoffed. “The Lady was too close against him, but you could certainly see his behind,” Yáraníssë continued.

 

“As I thought,” Sarnano replied, “You could not help but appreciate your Lord.”

 

Yáraníssë turned red. That scoundrel! Sarnano had tricked her into sharing what she hoped she could hide even from herself. She was at a loss for words.

 

“Most of the time I think you unappealing, plain, to be honest,” Sarnano spoke, moving about the kitchen to help Yáraníssë prepare breakfast, “but,” he continued, “when you are thus enraged, you really are so very pretty.” His back was turned to Yáraníssë as he uttered this last phrase, buttering bread that was going to be served with honey. Sarnano openly wore a smile of delight, delight not only for this beloved dance of his with Yáraníssë, but also for the spectacle of Findekáno’s form.

 

Yáraníssë wanted to strangle Sarnano’s long neck, but she restrained herself. How this elf could have been born to a Vanya family was beyond her. She kissed her thumb and said a quick prayer, asking for patience. She turned her attention to breakfast, chopping, frying, seasoning, but her mind’s eye kept returning to Findekáno and the warmth that emanated from inside her. With the shake of her head she tried clearing her mind, but to no avail.

 

)()()()()(

 

Elenwë took breakfast in her room. She had changed her bedding and made sure any other incriminating evidence was disappeared or well hidden. Luckily Yáraníssë was doing the wash that day, though Elenwë hesitated handing over the bedding to Yáraníssë.

 

Yáraníssë was careful handling the bedding, Elenwë noted, more than just trying to avoid touching anything dried onto the sheets. Yáraníssë turned her face away as she quickly unloaded the bundle into her basket, along with the clothes Findekáno had worn, as if looking upon the soiled items would also bespoil her. Yáraníssë could not look Elenwë in the eye, and Elenwë, she had to admit to herself, was a bit embarrassed that the Sarnano and Yáraníssë had probably heard their lovemaking so unrestrained they had been. But there was nothing she could do about that now. Instead she blushed at the recent memory of it, becoming lost again in the intense pleasure, how he had taken her so fully. How she had responded.

 

Yáraníssë quietly closed the door leaving Elenwë lost in her moment, standing still as a statue, lost in what doubtless were the memories of her time with the grandson of the Noldóran. So loud their cries had been. Yáraníssë could not fathom how such sounds could come from elves. What possessed them? She had taken her own husband in the carnal way, had children, long grown, but the memories of those times were fading, her mind and body turned to other pursuits and work, as it should be. And was not this Lord’s brother courting the Lady Elenwë? Yáraníssë shook her head, disapproving what she deemed the sinful ways of these Noldor that had a way of influencing those around them. It was probably that secret way so many of them adhered to, the primitive beliefs that some refused to give up as they made their way to the Blessed Lands. Yáraníssë shivered. They were looking for doom.

 

There was a knock on the entry door. “Not again!” Yáraníssë fussed as she set the laundry aside. Opening the door, Yáraníssë was relieved to see a messenger. He bore an official message for the Lord Cemendur and a private message for Elenwë. “Impossible,” Yáraníssë murmured to herself, believing it impossible that the Lord Findekáno so quickly managed to get a message to the Lady Elenwë. After all, the messenger wore the House of Nolofinwë’s heraldic badge and the official letter bore Nolofinwë’s seal. This was an interesting turn of events, Yáraníssë thought to herself. Maybe the Lord Findekáno was seeking Lady Elenwë’s hand, though it had been clear enough from conversations she overheard that the Lord Turukáno was courting the Lady Elenwë.

 

Yáraníssë went up the stairs and knocked on Elenwë’s door. There was a pause, but soon enough Elenwë opened the door. “A message arrived for you my lady,” Yáraníssë announced, handing over the envelope.

 

“Thank you Yáraníssë,” Elenwë answered, taking the letter.

 

“Do you require anything else my lady?”

 

“No. Thank you Yáraníssë,” Elenwë turned to reply to the lady, forgetting to dismiss her previously.

 

Elenwë waited for Yáraníssë to close the door and as soon as it shut she ripped open the letter. Her face paled. It was from Turukáno, inviting her to join his family for dinner on the following day. Of course he would, she thought to herself. He had done so since they began courting. The next light of Laurelin was Ardórin as the Noldor referred to Valarya, the day of the Valar. They would join King Finwë and Queen Indis at the palace for dinner. It was a lovely affair. Elenwë always looked forward to these reunions, if only to be closer to Turukáno. Findekáno was not always present. In fact it seemed that at the last two dinners Nelyafinwë had been present but not Findekáno. Strange she considered that. That also meant the official invitation from Nolofinwë himself had arrived.

 

Of course she would go, but it would be an awkward situation if Findekáno attended as well. She could not ask him not to go to avoid her discomfort. She needed to go, especially after what she shared with Findekáno. She was feeling pulled towards Findekáno, but she did not want to be hasty. And she needed to face him, face Turukáno. Both needed to admit their indiscretions. Would she have sought out Findekáno had it not been for Turukáno’s indiscretions? Elenwë asked herself this and many other questions, but the further she tried to think on it, the more confused she felt. Her heart felt truly torn between the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilu-the universe
> 
> I use the convention of day and night in my storytelling, though I try to indicate whether it is Laurelin’s or Telperion’s light.


	8. Star Light

**Chapter 8: Star Light**

 

_“Then love knew it was called love._

_And when I lifted my eyes to your name,_

_suddenly your heart showed me my way.”[1]_

 

“Findekáno!” Finwë called out, greeting his grandson.

Maitimo’s head shot up. He was not expecting Findekáno, but the sound of Findekáno’s name filled his heart. The weight and feel of the syllables of his name, like poetry. “Findekáno,” Maitimo whispered. 

Elenwë’s head also looked up when she heard Findekáno’s name called out. She had arrived earlier with Turukáno and Irissë. The three enjoyed a walk around the Great Square before making their way to the King’s Palace. It truly had been a pleasant time. Turukáno was warmer than he’d ever been, allowing her to see more of his character, his silly awkwardness around her, his boyishness. It was endearing and so unlike Findekáno. Elenwë was utterly confused and a bit terrified that she felt overwhelming desire for Turukáno. Seeing Findekáno’s younger brother look at her expectantly reminded her she could not bury her love for him in Findekáno, and now she scolded herself for the sound of Findekáno’s name roused her.

Elenwë heard someone whisper Findekáno’s name. She turned to investigate and saw Maitimo staring intently at Findekáno. Maitimo’s gaze was locked on Findekáno, following him as he greeted Finwë, Indis, and the rest of the family in attendance. She attempted to turn away, feeling she was witnessing an intimate moment, but she was caught in Maitimo’s gaze, like a fly trapped in a web. Elenwë was confused, trying to process what she was seeing.

Maitimo intimidated her. He was so unattainable, aloof. Maitimo was beautiful, imbued with a grace not given to many and not easily cultivated. He was the Prince in many a maiden’s dream, yet like so many of the grandchildren of Finwë, unbound. He existed completely outside her world, at least that is how Elenwë perceived him, how she had perceived Findekáno until... 

Elenwë tore her eyes away from Maitimo’s gaze and turned back to look at Findekáno who had finished greeting his uncles and aunts. This was an informal affair, as informal as a dinner with Finwë could be. Elves were moving about, greeting one another, some more politely than others. At times bodies blocked Findekáno from her sight. She shifted in her chair, stretching and angling to get a look. Then she saw it, Findekáno turning to see who was in attendance, looking, searching until his eyes fell on him. Findekáno found Maitimo’s unmoving eyes. She saw the same hunger, the same intensity reflected in Findekáno’s eyes as there was in Maitimo’s. She had never seen that in Findekáno, not even in his most exposed desire. This was something different, entirely different. Her heart skipped a beat, realization dawning on her as she watched the two finally break their gaze, a blush gracing Maitimo’s fair face. She watched Findekáno begin to make his way to sit, heading in the direction of Maitimo. 

Elenwë did not realize that someone had too been watching her. Though she sat next to Turukáno he was at the moment answering a series of probing questions from Lalwen. It was always time for politics in this family. Artanis was sitting across the table from Elenwë, watching her closely, interested to see how the dinner would unfold now that Findekáno arrived. Surely, Artanis mused, Elenwë would observe that which lay between Findekáno and Maitimo. Elenwë might have heard rumors about the two, but, Artanis had a hunch, Elenwë was truly ignorant of the relationship between the two grandsons of Finwë. Watching Findekáno and Maitimo, it would be impossible for Elenwë not to observe what lay between them. Perhaps with this knowledge Elenwë would hasten a wise decision, and perhaps, Findekáno would also set things right.

Findekáno felt Elenwë’s eyes upon him. He paused and looked in her direction chatting with Nerdanel and Makalaurë. He offered Elenwë a warm smile that could not be construed as anything other than friendly, though his eyes did linger on her for longer than usual. He inclined his head as he turned away walking to find a seat next to Maitimo. 

Elenwë did not notice that Maitimo observed the quick exchange between her and Findekáno, causing Maitimo to frown ever so briefly. It did not last. Turning to face Findekáno, Maitimo’s countenance reflected no such displeasure. Maitimo leaned over and whispered something to Findekáno causing him to laugh heartily. Maitimo laughed with him, quickly stealing a glance in Elenwë’s direction.

Elenwë froze in her seat. She was caught in Maitimo’s cool grey eyes. Maitimo subtly inclined his head, acknowledging her. He glanced briefly at Turukáno and then back to Elenwë, meanwhile whispering to Findekáno who had brought his chair closer to Maitimo so he could lean into him. It was, for the unknowing eye, a sign of filial intimacy, no more. But for those who knew what truly lay between them, it was a lovers’ intimacy, an intimacy well worn and comfortable by the long passage of time. Elenwë was not so blind and naïve that she could not recognize the easy way they interacted, the manner in which their hands, their bodies, their words maneuvered easily, comfortably, melting into each other.

Elenwë felt her heart skip a bit. She had witnessed, felt a deep melancholy in Findekáno. Naively she thought she could fill it, but now she know she could not. So Findekáno sought to unburden himself in her as she sought to unburden herself in him. Elenwë chided herself for her attitude towards Turukáno, considering her own dilemma. Finwë’s family was a strange clan, caught in a sad story, and Elenwë was irrevocably bound to them. She wanted to leap out of her chair and yell at the lot of them, blame them for tying her to them, for pulling her under, drowning her in the churning depths of their story. She was thankful that she was not going to have to speak with Turukáno or Findekáno for the time for the performance was drawing near.

 

)()()()(

Finwë’s palace was an imposing palace, cold and beautiful, made of white stones quarried from where oceans receded and once molten earth had long cooled. On this night the light of Telperion rounded its hard edges, the white stone glittering, making it more like the dwellings of faerie, the glittering elemental spirits of _endor_ , though too few now in Tirion would see such a thing when looking upon the royal palace, that knowledge of beauty and whimsy left behind across the Veil.  Elves sat quietly listening to a performance within the great music hall that captured every tone and whisper from the stage, yet maintaining an intimacy with the audience, a testament to Noldorin ingenuity.

Two voices that sounded like winds in the forest haunted the empty halls of the palace. The music spilled into the silver night. Lovers quietly took up residence on benches. Flowers did their part, blooming, jealous for lovers’ attentions on such a silver night. The voices of the sopranos drifted up and up until they reached the stars beyond, weaving in and out of each other, harmonious and graceful. A butterfly landed on a statue in the dimly lit garden, shaking its delicate wings with a sort of bravado unknown before that night. The music was enchanted.

Inside, Findekáno sat, lost in the music, quietly humming the well known and loved tune. Though not gifted as Makalaurë he had a lovely voice, like his _ama_ , but a growing sense of sorrow that blended into the vibrations of sound tickled his fingertips. He turned discretely to follow the thread and there he saw her, beautiful and cold--many would say-- but behind that stone face he could feel her sadness like a constant drizzling rain. Almáriel. _Of course_ , he thought to himself, remembering his conversation with Ambaráto who had a day before returned from Alqualondë. _Oh Turno, dear brother_ , he mused, _we truly have woven a similar tale_. For like Findekáno, Turukáno had loved illicitly, and both sought to satiate what seemed darkness in the light of Elenwë. Findekáno had not known Almáriel would be here this night. He had not seen her as he and his family had earlier made their way to the palace to enjoy a dinner with Finwë. Turukáno had insisted Elenwë join them. Elenwë and Turukáno were sitting nearer to the front of the Great Hall, in the royal boxes reserved for Finwë’s kin It was awkward, yet Findekáno had seen Maitimo, shared words and touches with him. His fingers ached where they had touched him. As was his want to do, Maitimo disappeared after dinner, leaving Findekáno feeling melancholic, alone. Almáriel, he saw the same reflected in her eyes. 

“Almáriel, _piri_ , turn” Findekáno breathed, sending a quiet whisper that traveled along the path of her sorrow, reaching only her ears. She turned to look at Findekáno, subtly dipping her head in greeting [2]. Quietly and unseen, he hoped, Findekáno slipped out, calling out to Almáriel using the threads of song and light to reach her. He sensed her presence, the buzzing in his fingertips warming his hands. The music trailed him, embracing him as he made his way out into a garden through a lesser-known way. There would be privacy here.

Almáriel was in an area of the great music hall where elves could relax, sitting on a floor, covered with plush rugs and pillows. Here the setting was less formal than the rows of seats that curved down towards the grand stage. Families often brought babes and children here, their giggles and cries absorbed by the luxuriant materials around them. Almáriel stood. Her companion paid no mind as coming and going in this section was commonplace. Once in the hallways of the palace she followed a feint thread of golden light--a light most would simply attribute to that strange phenomenon the learned Noldor called phosphene, seeing stars [3]. Not Almáriel. She was a _Haldanur_ , a keeper of the Veil. She saw faerie light.

But Findekáno had not slipped out unnoticed. Elenwë had been watching him intently, noticing he found Almáriel amongst the crowd. Elenwë had spotted her immediately upon entering the royal box. She fought the urge to turn and hit Turukáno and yell out a few choice words to his lover. The night’s music infuriated her more for it was a story about the forbidden love of an ancient elven lord for a courtesan, tales brought from the Outerlands where such individuals were said to live openly. At least in Valinor the courtesan was a whisper, an unspoken member of Kings’ courts, yet a favored topic of song and story. Almáriel stood and left the Great Hall. _She’s going to see Findekáno!_ Elenwë thought, her ire increasing exponentially. This was her moment, Elenwë mused, her moment to speak with Almáriel and find out once and for all where she stood with Turukáno. That conversation with Turukáno would come later. With Findekáno present she knew she could be more reasonable. He’d be a good arbiter. Yes, Elenwë convinced herself of this, reminding herself she would not allow herself to become another victim of Finwë’s clan. As quietly as possible, Elenwë excused herself and exited the palace into to the gardens beginning her search for the two. Surely the beauty of this night would call a soul like Findekáno out to relish under its silver night!

 

)()()()()( 

The stars from beyond Valinor stretched their light towards Aman, feeling the call of an elder child, their light traveling across the sundering seas. They spied a dark haired maiden dancing on a knoll tucked away in a corner of a meandering garden. Her feet were bare and upon her hair was a garland of flowers. As her feet touched the soft earth below, small delicate flowers bloomed upon it. It was a conjuring, a conjuring of beauty and whimsy, healing and love. 

Upon the earth of that garden they saw another dark-haired child sitting and watching the maiden of night. The stars wanted to embrace their lost children, but it was not yet time. Thus they waited, anticipating the reunion they knew would come soon enough. This son had consecrated his blood to _endor_ many seasons past, with love and body, dancing upon such a similar night with another, another son [4].

Findekáno watched Almáriel, feeling the earth buzz beneath him. Such was her power, to bring into being _Halda_ , the power and mystery of _endor_ upon these lands. And they called it Arda marred, but here was the power of healing. _If only, if only…_ he gave up on his thoughts. It, the renewal of the Song, would never be, not like this, not in Aman. There was too much piety, too much pride, and darkness. He touched his heart, feeling the taint upon him; though he knew his love was not truly tainted, but the Blessings upon these lands were restrictive, darkening that which was neither good or bad.

Almáriel reached her hands out to Findekáno sensing that dark place in him. “Dance with me,” she sang, her voice weaving in the harmonies of the voices that traveled from within the Great Hall of Music. She danced over to him. Upon reaching him, she took his outstretched hands and lifted him up to join her, but before she swept him up in dance she undid his plaits, carefully removing the gold threads in his hair. “Here,” she offered Findekáno the sacred relics of _Halda_ , “we do not need reminders of our duties and loves made impossible.” 

Findekáno did not move as she went to dance. Her words brought him full circle to that memory of him and Maitimo dancing together on the night of his coming of age. 

“Oh,” she breathed, her voice vibrating, rippling in the silver light that clung to them like a net. “And now your duty to others, those days that long ago seemed distant, are now here, present and heavy.” Almáriel ran her fingers through his thick hair. She looked into his deep blue eyes so sorrowful and intense like hers, a kindred spirit. She pressed her forehead to his, whispering, “ _Poldórëa_ , oh Valiant son, do you not live beyond your title for surely you are more than a son and Lord?” She used the older form of Astaldo, his mother name.

Findekáno closed his eyes sinking against her warm body, encircling her with his arms. She was providing healing, but so to did he. “And you are more than secondary lover, for you are bliss,” Findekáno whispered in return, reminding Almáriel the meaning of her name, blessed. He ran his hands through her dark hair, moving to trace her face with his thumb. “I do not know if we will ever be free to love and be loved, but do not lose hope. Hold to joy,” Findekáno urged quietly as he placed an innocent kiss upon her soft lips. 

The crescendo of voices pierced the silver net they had woven around themselves. The sounds of the music tugged at them. Their bodies began to sway gently. Findekáno held his friend close as they danced upon the knoll, a bed of white flowers at their feet. And they were reminded of their power, the power to seek joy and beauty in spite of sorrow. They had choices. Yet, as the light of the stars retreated, a single tendril of darkness teased at the outer edges of their senses. Eldamar was tainted and a Doom awaited the Noldor.

 

)()()()(

Elenwë had set out with purposeful intent, but as she roamed the gardens lit by the soft silver glow she could not help but pause and take in the beauty of the strange silver twilight. Unfamiliar birds were dancing about the trees, their bird song complementing the voices drifting to the gardens from within. Their vision was keen, trailing the young maiden with hair of gold on her path, hopping and flying from tree to tree, following and singing. 

Elenwë noticed the trailing birds. At first she felt a sense of foreboding, like some forbidden enchantment from across the Veil that separated Aman from the Outerlands had found its way through a crack along the borders. She continued her wandering search, the moss path beneath assuring her of the rightness of all. She glanced at the birds and what had first seemed ominous now appeared playful, like a child curiously shadowing someone. _Silmë_ , the shining light of Silpion, the elder name of Telperion--the name she noticed both Findekáno and Turukáno used to refer to Telperion at times--was leading her. The light breeze was like a gentle whisper, laughing, murmuring, telling her, _follow this way_. And she gave herself to the game the enchanted night was offering. But then she heard him, Findekáno, heard him speaking softly to another. Almáriel.

Elenwë felt her heart beat wildly, like a bird trapped in a cage seeking release. She willed herself to calm. It would not serve her purpose to be overcome with emotion. Quietly she walked to where she heard the voices, Findekáno and another’s, until she spied them atop a knoll in a secluded area of the palace gardens. It seemed she had been led to this place for she had wound through narrow paths and garden mazes to make her way here. Her heart threatened to leap out of her throat! They were enmeshed in an intimate embrace, dancing, caught up in a lovers’ reverie.

Almáriel was the first to turn and see Elenwë. Almáriel’s eyes reflected no fire. There was a stillness in them that shook Elenwë, as if she were dead. Findekáno raised his head, also turning to see who had happened upon them. In his eyes Elenwë recognized his light, but he was wearing a frown, though she was not sure if it was because he was displeased they had been discovered or because she was standing there. Neither said anything. The awkward silence that stretched between them was noticeable for no music was to be heard, no voices graced the moment to ease the tension. 

Finally, Elenwë summoned her courage, raising her a chin a fraction to look directly at Almáriel. “I come to speak with you Almáriel.”

“With me?” Almáriel asked, a bit taken aback by the young woman she had clearly misjudged. Findekáno remained silent. 

“Yes, with you. I wish to speak with you concerning Turukáno.” Elenwë turned to look at Findekáno, “And I suppose I might ask you what your intentions are with Findekáno.”

“That matters to you?” Almáriel replied, now more curious. 

“It does,” Elenwë replied turning to look at Findekáno. “I believe we both need to be clear about our intentions with the sons of Nolofinwë.”

Almáriel was now clearly confused. “And what intentions do I have with Findekáno?” She turned to look at Findekáno who offered her one of his boyish grins, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. “Oh,” Almáriel responded, “I think I am beginning to understand.” Almáriel walked a few steps in the direction of Elenwë. “Findekáno is a dear friend, my _otorno,_ sworn brother. Nothing more.” 

“Then I was mistaken,” Elenwë replied, not quite believing Almáriel’s declaration.

“She speaks the truth, Elenwë. While there is a deep love between us, which I think is what you have seen, it is a bond born of friendship and shared paths,” Findekáno elaborated walking beyond Almáriel towards Elenwë until he stood before her. 

“Shared paths?” Elenwë inquired, not knowing much of the history of Almáriel beyond the gossip. 

Findekáno took hold of Elenwë’s hand placing it over his heart. “The two of us,” he spoke turning to look at Almáriel before returning his attention to Elenwë, “sought each other to unburden our hearts for we both love that which seems impossible.” 

“You love Turukáno?” Elenwë replied, her surprise directed at Almáriel. Elenwë’s gaze was fixed on Almáriel; any sense of propriety and measured words now abandoned. And which impossible love was Findekáno referring to for himself- herself, Nelyafinwë? 

“I do,” Almáriel quietly replied, unmoved from where she stood. “But he does not love me as I desire for he loves another above all.” 

Elenwë was unnerved. She had imagined this scene in her mind a million times over. Imagined how she would put Almáriel in her place, chastise her about the pain she caused Elenwë. Yet seeing Almáriel, truly seeing her, she saw a deep sorrow reflected back in her eyes. Elenwë had not considered Almáriel the person. She had simply been a caricature. 

Findekáno spoke, “It is true Elenwë. Turukáno loves you, loves you above all.” If only Maitimo loved him above all. No. There would always be Fëanáro.

Findekáno’s words broke her. Elenwë burst out in tears of anger and pain. “If Turukano loves me so much why was he with her, with you Almáriel?”

“And why were you, are you with me?” Findekáno interjected quietly, gazing at Elenwë who was possessively holding him.

Elenwë’s tears were overcoming her. She sobbed, the feel of Findekáno embracing her overwhelming her.

After a time Elenwë’s sobs quieted. Almáriel took this opportunity to speak plainly. “Turukáno loves you and you love him. You are so much younger than he. He has had a life before you, a life I was a part of.”

Elenwë lifted her face to look at Almáriel. She would now know their story.

“You are just beginning your life of adulthood and like one of your station you are expected to bond and marry. And you are blessed that the you have indeed fallen in love with someone who will commit to you for as long as we are bound to these lands.” She paused letting those last words reach Elenwë. “I _was_ a part of his life. He begins a new chapter, or I should say he has begun a new chapter. Alqualondë, these past few days with Turukáno, well he was closing the chapter on our story, Elenwë. Turukáno is a decent man. He chose not to throw me out like dirty water. He cares for me, but not enough. I will seek him no more. I am no masochist. It has broken my heart, these last few days, to know that the man I love does not love me as I wish, that the love he holds in his heart belongs to you.” But Almáriel would not fade, not die from grief. That was a Law she rejected. 

Elenwë, now more composed, was not yet ready to give in so easily. “But it is more than that Almáriel.” She paused knowing that her well rehearsed words might sting more than she wanted them to, but now was the time. “He has gone to you because in you he seeks something he believes I cannot give him.” _Does Findekáno come to me because I give him something Nelyafinwë cannot give?_ Elenwë considered silently.

Almáriel heard Elenwë’s words. They were true and that hurt, hurt deeply. Finally she spoke, her own voice breaking with emotion. “Yes, you are right. A part of what Turukáno has with me is our physicality. Stupid oaf,” she sobbed, “He hasn’t touched you has he?”

“No,” Elenwë whispered in reply, feeling for this woman she wanted to hate so badly, but the pain she saw break on her face, well Elenwë wished that on no one.

Findekáno walked over to Almáriel, wrapping his arms around her, offering his gentle support. It was his turn to speak. “And what of me Elenwë? What am I to you?”

Elenwë opened her mouth to speak, but found she was at a loss for words. She could not help but feel that something beyond herself put her towards Findekáno, but was not that her looking for a way to minimize her culpability? Was she simply a young female version of Turukáno? No there was more than that! It was more complicated…and that is when it hit her. Turukáno was not black and white. Elenwë looked at Findekáno seeing the sorrow reflected back in his blue eyes. “No,” Elenwë cried out, “I have not used you. Not like that!” Tears were gathering again. “You were, you are my first love. You are my first. I do love you, I do, but… Oh I do not know how it came to this! And what of you Findekáno?”

“Because love and life are complicated for us,” Almáriel spoke again. “Life on these lands is complicated for those of us whose hearts yearn for more than what has been accorded to us by silly traditions.” Almáriel had a different look about her. There was a fire in her eyes. “In a different place and time our stories would be different. Alas we must make do with the paths we are allowed to tread. Do not fight too hard Elenwë. Do not seek to carve out your own path to the detriment of your happiness. Turukáno will not cage you. He will move mountains for you and he will, when he realizes it, want you to move mountains. Together you both can create some good.” 

Findekáno continued, answering Elenwë’s plea. “We all have choices. I have choices and I for one do not regret mine.” He now stood between the two women. “I might be condemned by my station, by my duty,” Findekáno spoke looking at Almáriel, “my duty to love, to love myself and my betters. I do not; I will not repent. Some may name me prideful, but in truth I seek only honesty- that path I see with my mind’s eye.”

Almáriel smiled. “Yes we follow beauty. I will keep true to myself and to that, which connects me to life.”

“You speak of _Halda_ ,” Elenwë replied, the ancient belief system, another story that had been unknown to her, though she knew that the House of Finwë was strong in it. 

“In a way,” Findekáno replied. 

“I felt it,” Elenwë replied, her words unexpected. “This evening I felt it. And it is not the first time.”

Almáriel’s face softened. “Daughter of Awakening. You have heard the summoning. You will not turn back. You will not desire to.” 

“No,” Elenwë agreed, “I will not turn back for what I have felt, though I cannot describe it, has made me feel more myself than I thought possible.” 

The three sat on the knoll sharing a contemplative silence. While more words could be exchanged there was no need. Emotions, threads of light and energy, were woven around them, communicating more deeply than what words could convey. Almáriel was a Haldanur. This was her gift, though what lay between Findekáno and Elenwë, Almáriel delved not to deeply into their story. That was not for her to know, and yet there was something that unnerved her-- a tie, almost like a dark thread cast between Findekáno and Elenwë, an enchantment that alarmed her. Yet enchantment only works where there are embers, Almáriel reminded herself.

“I was wondering where you went,” a deep voice announced, coming around the grove of trees that surrounded the knoll, surprising Almáriel and her companions. Three heads shot up in surprise. Turukáno! But as soon as Turukáno made his way around the trees he saw Elenwë sat with Findekáno and Almáriel. He did not expect Elenwë to be here.  He had seen Findekáno leave and Almáriel shortly after. He guessed the reason for it and was thankful for it. He did not want Almáriel to suffer for his mistakes, his choices. Elenwë had also left but he assumed she was attending to womanly matters, but when she tarried he became concerned, it was unlike Elenwë to abandon a show. For a brief moment the thought of Elenwë and Almáriel running into each other crossed his mind, but he quickly decided that was nothing to worry about. After all Elenwë did not know who Almáriel was and Almáriel would not seek Elenwë out if she saw her. Yet his worst fears were confirmed. Elenwë, Almáriel, and Findekáno sat together peacefully, a strange look to their eyes. At least Findekáno was with them. The thought eased him. Elenwë probably crossed paths with Findekáno and Almáriel and the three talked. It must not have been easy for Almáriel.

“Brother!” Findekáno called out. 

Turukáno willed himself to walk towards the group. His tunic felt tight around his neck, heat rising. He silently cursed his fair complexion that made the color rising more noticeable. “I am surprised to find you all out here, together,” Turukáno finally spoke. 

He inclined his head towards Almáriel, “Greetings, my lady. I hope you are well.”

Almáriel offered him a brisk curtsy, “Well enough my lord. I am reminded that I tarried out here too long. I must return inside or I too shall be missed.” She had not intended her words to be hurled as an insult, but they had their intended effect. Turukáno’s face clouded over, he looked down for a moment. Almáriel turned to Elenwë and Findekáno. “I take my leave of you. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance Elenwë.”

Almáriel turned to leave, but Findekáno caught her arm. “I will walk with you. I too have lost my sense of time and should return.” Turning to Turukáno, mentally sharing a few key words with his brother, Findekáno offered, “Elenwë, I leave you with my brother. I assume this is acceptable.”

Elenwë’s face was unreadable. She nodded her head and shared brief words of farewell with Almáriel and Findekáno. She did not look back at Turukáno. She could not. The fact that he had spoke with Almáriel moments before, pretending only a passing acquaintance infuriated her. She was shaking with rage.

Turukáno was not an idiot and Findekáno’s words with him had shaken him. _Tread gently_. So, Turukáno understood, Elenwë was now not in the dark as he hoped she would be. “Elenwë,” he whispered, “please look at me.” Turukáno walked over to her and tentatively reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened as he laid his hand on her, but he did not remove it. “Look at me,” Turukáno pleaded, his voice betraying him. 

Elenwë looked away, her fists clenched at her side. Turukáno reached his other hand to take hold of her hand. She did not hold his hand in return. “Elenwë,” he pleaded, moving closer to her, “say something.”

She whipped her head around to face him, here eyes glimmering with anger. Her nostrils flared and her breathing became more erratic. He could feel her heart beating faster in her chest, her body tense. “No Turukáno, I believe you have something to say to me.”

Turukáno dropped Elenwë’s hand. His shoulders slumped in defeat. What could he say? He did not know how much she knew but it did not matter. She knew enough to be hurt. The look of betrayal on her face stung him deeply. Oh he was a fool! Now he had no words.

“Coward,” Elenwë cried out, turning away from Turukáno. “Not only did you hurt me, you crushed her. Turukáno, you crushed her.” 

Turukáno was taken aback. He did not expect these words. These accusations, they hurt deeper than if Elenwë had recriminated him for his betrayal of her, but her words, they ripped off a layer he did not want to acknowledge. He did not want to hurt either of them, yet he had made choices.  “I am sorry,” Turukáno whispered not having anything more to say. 

Elenwë gasped, “Sorry? Oh Turukáno, I do not know you, and you do not know me!”

“I am not a complicated person Elenwë. Above all else I love you.”

“Is it so?” Elenwë retorted, “Above all else and selfishly so, you love me? Do you love me above Almáriel? Love me enough not to satiate your lust in her?”

“It is not so easy Elenwë,” Turukáno replied more desperate, unsure of anything.

“Not so easy to keep it in your pants? Not so easy to not fuck another woman? Really Turukáno, really!” Elenwë was breathing hard, her voice shaking with rage. She could not make up her mind whether to run or turn and hit him with all her might.

“I, I cannot speak for I fear-”

“Fear what Turukáno?” Elenwë interrupted, “fear that I will truly see you as you are?” 

“No,” he replied, “yes” he continued now more defeated. “Yes, I fear that you will know I am not as I present myself. That I am more like…” Turukáno’s voice faltered. 

Elenwë’s eyes widened with incredulity, “What? That you are more like your brother?” 

Turukáno did not reply. He turned his face away in shame.

“Oh dear Eru, that is it!” Elenwë cried out, “You are ashamed that you share the same proclivities with your brother!”

Turukáno whipped his head back to Elenwë, “No, not like that Elenwë. I meant.” Again Turukáno was at a loss for words. He did not mean to slander Findekáno, but Turukáno was afraid that if polite society, namely those that influenced Elenwë, knew that he and Findekáno were more alike than what was on the surface, well the thought terrified him. He’d worked so hard to build a reputation, to cultivate a carefully tended narrative. 

Elenwë interrupted his thoughts, “Turukáno, you might be afraid of what others think, but you are more terrified of who you are. This is not about those around you. This is about you. This is about you running away from who you are.”

She was right, in part. He was trying to turn the page on that Turukáno; the Turukáno who had loved Almáriel with reckless abandon yet secreted away their affair because he cared what others thought. He wanted to be whole. He was tired of being torn between what seemed like opposing aspects of his personality. He was ashamed that he had fallen in love with Elenwë so unexpectedly, so quickly and in spite of Almáriel. Would he do the same to Elenwë?

“Tell me your thoughts Turno!” Elenwë cried, feeling tears overwhelm her once again.

“Elenwë,” Turukáno moved to hug her.

She pushed him back. “No. You cannot comfort me this way! Turno I need to know you. You must be honest and so I too must be honest.”

Turukáno did not really hear these last words. He was focused on fighting his inner ghosts that wanted to smother his desire to unburden himself, to share his deepest thoughts with Elenwë. He felt a knot in his throat. It had to be now. “I am deeply ashamed Elenwë, ashamed that I fell in love with you so unexpectedly, so deeply in spite of Almáriel.” He looked at his hands as if in them he carried his shame. Swallowing, willing away the lump in his throat, he continued. “I am ashamed, ashamed that I am quick to judge Findekáno, yet I am more like him than I care to admit.” Turukáno stopped speaking. He looked up from his hands to the to the sky above, searching for something beyond him to offer him some comfort. “And I am most afraid that I will hurt you as I did Almáriel, yet I see I have already crossed that path. Oh forgive me Elenwë. I do love you so, believe me.”

Turukáno could hear Elenwë catching her breath between sobs. She looked up at the silver skies above them, also searching for something. She did not know what she looked for, though she hoped to find an answer.

Turukáno sat on the grass. This was it, he thought to himself, the consequences of his choices. His hands were trembling ever so slightly. How could the choices he made in a land supposedly blessed be the cause of pain, unnecessary pain? Choices. Love. It was supposed to be easy here. They were perfected. He heard Almáriel’s voice from afar, speaking in the silently poetic way of hers, of the Veil, of light and enchantment, of a time before the sundering. He was only fooling himself. He believed in none of it: not the perfection; not the enchantment. He was bound to Nolmë, science, that which was observable, rationale, so he thought. Then, looking up, he saw a crown of light upon Elenwë. It faded and he looked into her eyes so full of sorrow…though little could he know that this was not sorrow. Sorrow danced around the two, not fully embracing them, whispering from afar, lightly touching their hearts. Sorrow kept its distance, tethered by a doom that awaited them.

Elenwë’s voice broke their silence. “I wish to return to my uncle’s, but I cannot walk there with you alone.” She said no more.

“I,” Turukáno hesitated, “I will ask Irissë if she will accompany me to escort you.” He stood and waited, waited to hear if she would at least allow him this.

She shook her head in agreement, saying nothing.

“Will you walk with me back inside?” he asked.

Again she nodded her head, following silently.

Before entering the Palace, Turukáno turned and wrapped his arms around Elenwë. She did not reject him. The feel of her, her smell, the texture of her hair in his hands was more than he could bear. He started to cry.

“Turno, we need to speak more,” Elenwë whispered, his sobbing breaking her composure. “But not here. There is also something I must talk with you about. After that we will know if we shall have one another.” Her heart was heavy. She wanted to forgive him for all his indiscretions, but Elenwë knew this would not make for a relationship she wished to have.

Now it was Turukáno who said nothing, not being able to speak, nodding his head, his chin on her head, the usual way he greeted her, her sinking into him to be embraced, him enveloping her, feeling her just so in his arms, but this moment was different. Though they were close there seemed to be an immeasurable gulf between the two. They stood in each other’s arms for a long moment, until Turukáno broke away, quickly wiping away the tears that stained his face.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” As he walked away he turned to glance back at Elenwë who looked on after him, until he disappeared within the hall. Quietly he entered the royal box, noticing that Findekáno had not returned. He looked to where Almáriel had been sitting and saw that Findekáno was with her. Silently he sat next to Irissë asking her if she’d walk with him and Elenwë back to her uncles. Irissë wordlessly asked what happened, but Turukáno did not want to open himself to his sister. Anairë shifted uncomfortably in her seat seeing Turukáno was clearly upset, his eyes red from tears. Nolofinwë placed his hand over hers and shook his head slightly, dissuading her from going to Turukáno. What was silently shared between the two elder elves is unknown, but Anairë shifted her attention back to the stage, knowing if she turned back, she could not resist the urge to run and embrace her son. Nolofinwë offered a warm smile and a nod of understanding to his youngest children. 

As soon as they were in the halls of the palace, Irissë pulled Turukáno to a stop. “What happened,” she demanded.

“Please, I do not wish to speak of it now. Just do this for me? Yes?” 

“Of course, Turno, but its breaking my heart to see you like this,” Irissë whispered tears gathering in her own eyes. 

Turukáno turned and walked ahead, not wanting to say more. He spied Elenwë waiting. She looked the same: cold, distant, and sad like a far off star in a sky devoid of light.

As they approached Elenwë, Irissë fully understood that either the relationship between Turukáno and Elenwë was over or it was close to that.  She looked to meet Elenwë’s eyes, but Elenwë simply shook her head and started walking. Turukáno and Irissë followed closely behind. They walked this way until they reached Elenwë’s home. They composed themselves enough that they would not bring unwanted attention from Cemendur and his wife. They walked her up to the door and there Turukáno with Irissë handed Elenwë over to Cemendur who warmly greeted them and promptly wished them a good night. It was well enough. Turukáno did not feel like small talk. As soon as the door closed, Turukáno turned and walked leaving Irissë standing on the steps of the townhome. She had to run to catch up with her brother’s long steps.

He did not turn to face her. Irissë wrapped her arm around her brother’s, and walked with him looking up into his face, in silent companionship. They walked the whole of Tirion this way, Irissë in silent support of her brother. Her thoughts were tumbling inside. Did he find out about Findekáno? No, she thought, if he had, the two brothers would have certainly been quarrelling. More likely, Elenwë found out the full tale of Almáriel. Turukáno had kept Irissë apart from Almáriel, but not Findekáno, so much so Irissë did not know the extent of Turukáno and Almáriel’s relationship until prompted by Amarië. Truthfully Irissë had an inkling but refused to hear the rumors. Not that she did not believe Turukáno fooled around with this other woman, but to think it had been more than that. It wasn’t until Irissë confronted Tyelkormo, knowing that he often accompanied Turukáno and Findekáno, with Maitimo on their camping trips (that she’d heard referred to as pure debauchery) that she understood the seriousness of it. Turko had confirmed that Turukáno was often in the company of Almáriel and that it was more than a passing affair. The sons of Fëanáro believed Almáriel was wasted on Turukáno though they could understand how one such as Turukáno could be attracted to her… 

Their home was in the near distance. Turukáno slowed a bit. He was nearing what he feared most, to lay in bed with his thoughts, unable to run, turn away from them. He felt comforted by Irissë next to him. Yet as they crossed the threshold into the large grassy courtyard he felt a heavy weight descend upon him. He could no longer hold back the tears. They came, overwhelming him. He cried, though in the back of his mind, he also cried for what seemed to be a loss of innocence for all of them. Their world was slowly coming apart all around them. 

“Oh Turno,” Irissë soothed, holding her brother in her arms. It seemed this clan she was a part of needed no enemy to tear itself apart. They were born with desire larger than these lands. Turukáno tried to be the good son, tried to diminish his light, but he was bold and beautiful. Yet not wise, not wise, not yet, Irissë considered. None of them were.

)()()()()(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Translated, Line from Pablo Neruda’s LXXIII Sonnet. “El amor supo entonces que se llamaba amor. Y cuando levanté mis ojos a tu nombre tu corazón de pronto dispuso mi camino.” Pablo Neruda, Soneto LXXIII 
> 
> [2] This scene inspired by the opera scene in Life is Beautiful. The music I describe here is likewise Belle nuit, ô nuit d'amour, also known as Barcarolle from the opera the Tales of Hoffman. One of the characters singing is Guilietta a courtesan, how suitable! 
> 
> [3] phosphene-“A phosphene is a phenomenon characterized by the experience of seeing light without light actually entering the eye. The word phosphene comes from the Greek words phos (light) and phainein (to show. Phosphenes are flashes of light, often associated with optic neuritis, induced by movement or sound.” From Wikipedia 
> 
> [4] From chapter 5. Maitimo takes Findekáno away from Tirion to privately celebrate Findekáno’s coming of age: “Maitimo had come to Findekáno and stole him away, taking him back to the river to--in Maitimo’s words--consecrate your blood to the Outerlands.” 
> 
> endor-middle earth


	9. Condemnation

**Story Summary:** After a night out with Findaráto, Amarië, and Elenwë, Findekáno ends up sharing a night of passion with Elenwë, his brother Turukáno’s beloved. Findekáno feels awful about it, but not so awful that he regrets it and does not repeat it. Findekáno confesses to Maitimo, though neither is sure how Findekáno’s transgression with Elenwë will impact their relationship. Their ambivalence is more symbolic of the growing tensions and distance between the Houses of Nolofinwë and Fëanáro. The growing tensions are not only within Finwë’s family. There are Noldorin nobles who like the status quo, and do not appreciate the liberalization of policies that the Finwions are heralding. Set against this backdrop of a crumbling social order, Anairë finds out about Elenwë and Findekáno’s indiscretion and decides to intervene, partly because she feels guilty, believing that she unwittingly put Elenwë onFindekáno’s path. We also find out that these tensions are reflective of deeper religious/spiritual beliefs that are dividing all the elves as well as the Noldor. Elenwë breaks off her relationship with Turukáno, finding out the full extent of his betrayal, but begins to understand that maybe she is not so unlike him.

 

**Chapter 9: Condemnation**

 

The following days found Elenwë deciding to take charge. She needed time. Time away from both brothers, and in her heart, though she loved Findekáno, his heart was not hers. Yes he did love her, but not in the manner she desired. His heart was ultimately given elsewhere. Yet there was a strange tie that existed between her and Findekáno. This should could not demy. And Turukáno. His heart was hers, wholly hers, yet that was not comforting, because in giving her his love, he had hurt another. Oh the irony, Turukáno entirely in love with her, but afraid of his love, of hurting Elenwë, yet he had. And what of herself, her own heart? She discovered it was big enough to love in a manner she had not conceived, but she had a choice, and if Turukáno would have her then they would mend their wounds. Would he forever hate Findekáno? Could Turukáno and Findekáno mend their relationship as Findaráto and Angaráto had? She hoped so. There certainly was precedent. Yet Elenwë was plagued by strange dreams since the silvery night she cut with Turukáno. In those dreams she found herself bound by a silver wrought rope. She would follow the length of the rope to find Findekáno likewise bound by the same rope. Try as hard as she could, she could not free herself, always she had the sensation that there were figures beyond her, pulling her back into some strange net.

 

)()()()(

 

Days had passed since Findekáno had last left Elenwë with Turukáno that fateful night in the palace gardens. Turukáno refused to leave home. He had sent messages to Elenwë, messages that went unanswered. Irissë begged patience of her brother, though Turukáno understood Elenwë’s silence, he could not hide from his pain, his unease. Findekáno could not bear to look upon his brother, finding excuses to not make himself present at his parents’ home. Findekáno buried himself in work. He felt, in part, responsible for Elenwë’s decision.

 

Findekáno found himself on a lookout high upon Tuna, the waters of the Bay of Eldamar in the distance. The waters were grey, cold, still, unlike his thoughts, alive, burning and moving. There it was again, the veil, that thin gossamer line, the borders between worlds. But it didn’t have to be, the worlds, split, sundered. No. It did not. But Tirion was coming undone, yet most seemed not to notice. More likely they pretended the world around them was not collapsing, like a stage being taken down at the end of an act. What backdrop awaited them Findekáno was not sure, but he was sure that though he loved him, Maitimo’s loyalty ultimate lay with his father. And that, that was the detail that always brought them to an impasse. Duty. Filial love.

 

And what of Elenwë? They continued seeing each other, the two lovers also choosing to ignore the world coming apart around them. Though there was love, there was also a selfishness to their affair, a coming together of two souls that wanted to ease the pain of difficult loves. In this way their lovemaking was like a salve that temporarily eased the knots in their stomachs. Little did they know that an invisible thread had been tied between them, bringing them together, a tie that would soon be cut, undone by its maker.

 

)()()()()(

 

Anairë was overcome with her own grief, watching, observing how Turukáno was consumed with grief. This was her doing. She had hoped, desired, indeed asked for the Valar to intercede in Findekáno’s love life, asking, pleading for a maiden to find his heart so that his heart could finally close the chapter on Maitimo. And the Valar had granted her prayers, though few asked for such things from the Valar for the outcome of such pleadings often had consequences one could not foresee. Anairë had never anticipated that the maiden be Elenwë, but Anairë acted out of desperation, watching as Tirion crumbled around her, the bitterness grow between Fëanáro and Nolofinwë, the breaking of her son’s heart every time Maitimo pushed him away. She’d acted out of fear, but now she was acting out of love. Anairë understood her actions would be like the rock the begins an avalanche, but she had to undue what she had wrought, trusting in her sons. Carefully she took the delicate silver rope that was threaded with Findekáno’s hair and undid the knot. As the knot came undone, the threads of the rope broke apart, sending silver threads flying about. After sweeping up the remains of the rope and carefully collecting her son’s hair, she tossed the remains in the fire. It was done. Whatever unnatural power tied them together was done. It was now up to each of her sons and Elenwë to rely on their own honor and decency and see this story through.

 

 

)()()()(

 

Elenwë felt clarity of purpose. The dreams that had been haunting her had resolved themselves. The rope that bound her and Findekáno had been cut and when she woke that morning, she resolved to end it with Findekáno, though in her heart there was love for him, Elenwë understood that their love--Elenwë and Findekáno--simply could not be. She resolved to face Turukáno and come clean with him for in her heart, her love for Turukáno was also firm. Elenwë pulled her light cloak over her shoulders and used the pin Findekáno had given her as a fastener. No more hiding. Instead of heading to see her tutor, she headed straight away to the palace. Findekáno would be there. Her heart raced at the thought. And this was the irony of her heart--that it could at once feel pain and loss and love, excitement and anticipation.

 

)()()()(

 

She was waiting at the palace in his office. Findekáno did not expect her, but yet here she was sitting comfortably. She turned her head towards the door as he came in, a lovely smile highlighting her delicate beauty, her eyes bright with the youthful exuberance typical of Elenwë. Findekáno paused, pleasantly surprised. He stood in the doorway staring at his unexpected visitor.

 

“Well aren’t you going to greet me?” Elenwë rose moving to greet Findekáno. As she approached him he reached out and picked up her hand placing a chaste kiss upon it, smoothly closing the door behind him with his other hand. Findekáno released her hand, but Elenwë caught his hand with hers.

 

“Do you not dare to find yourself alone with me? Shame on you Findekáno,” she teased, moving to grab his other hand. She stepped closer to him willing him to feel her warmth, the buzzing energy of her body. She’d made up her mind this was their final goodbye. Though Elenwë also wanted to keep her desire in check, but finding him here, so handsome, dressed in his formal court attire, hair formally braided, very unlike the Findekáno she was used to seeing. The intimate thoughts that he’d claimed her and she him exhilarated her. Her Findekáno was indeed a Prince, a Lord of elves, a vision she’d dreamt whisking her away from the confines of womanhood when she was younger. She’d not really seen him like this before, his circlet upon him, imposing. Indeed not many had seen him in his ceremonial court attire for unlike other elves, he only wore it on very special days at court. Today was such a day.

 

Findekáno did not extricate his hands from hers. He was beyond acting surprised. He now recognized Elenwë’s boldness, not a passing characteristic of youth. The warmth of her excited him. He was beyond looking for excuses, evading discomfort. Timidity, that was unlike him.

 

Aware of the clandestine nature of her visit, Elenwë whispered, “I wanted to say a goodbye of sorts. To part with fond remembrance of you.”

 

Findekáno sighed, bringing her hand to his heart. Of course he expected this. Sooner or later, theirs, this story, would have to end. Now was that time. Somehow it felt…right.

 

Elenwë looked at her fingers intertwined in his, the darker shade of his fingers woven around the lighter shade of hers, like a beautiful tapestry. Impetuously she demanded, “Take me, kiss me.”

 

Findekáno replied with a low throaty growl, hungrily claiming her lips, tasting her deeply. She was voracious, no longer tentative in return. Like their lips, their hands were ravenously exploring, undoing, tugging, ripping, hurried in passion. They were breathing hard, growing sounds of arousal, skin was exposed, access found.

 

Findekáno stopped their kissing; looking at her, fire in his eyes, an immodest grin slowly spreading across his striking face. “No inhibitions,” he whispered, as he gently bit and kissed her ears. “Open all of you to me,” he commanded, plunging fingers into her, feeling her wetness, teasing her. He was now kissing her neck, her skin exploding with his every touch. “Walk this holiest path with me Elenwë,” he whispered, utterly seducing her.

 

Yes, this is what she sought. This is what she desired, to be taken, to be so utterly given over to pleasure. “I cannot give you up,” she replied finding her voice amidst her pleasure. Yet she was giving him up. Elenwë understood that what she could not give up was the pleasure of her body. That was hers and she would never give up her right to claim the pleasures that her own body offered her.

 

Then like a bursting flame he was in her. They tumbled onto a chair, Findekáno supporting himself with his feet on his desk as she rode him and he moved to meet her. Their lovemaking was intense, more purposeful, and filled with the knowledge of endings. Findekáno pressed his forehead to hers. They dared not break the spell they were under, their eyes locked onto one another. This was indeed the end of this, their ill-fated love. Their bodies burned, the sensation of movement, the friction of sex fixed their emotions to the current moment. Her golden hair spilled over him, her golden prince, his skin kissed with the light of Laurelin.

 

“Fin…” she cried out…

 

“Sh..sh..sh…” he tried shushing her as his voice broke with exertion and passion, aware that while they were in the privacy of his office at the palace, the walls were not so forgiving; and the court wing of the place would soon be bustling with elves readying for the day’s court.

 

Whispering into his ear Elenwë spoke before collapsing into desperate moans, eager at once in anticipation of climax but also hoping to prevent these last intimate and desperate moments from ending: “I will always love you…” Though she knew theirs was ending, this statement felt true, felt everlasting.

 

“And I too will always love you,” Findekáno repeated, his voice heavy with fatigue from their lovemaking. Like Elenwë, Findekáno meant his words, though he too understood the finality of this moment. “I can never give the whole of me. It will make you unhappy,” Findekáno breathed, knowing that though she came to say goodbye there was more at play here. “He can,” Findekáno offered speaking of his brother.

 

“Can he?” she retorted as if cold water had been thrown on her. Coming from Findekáno, these words angered her, though she shared these sentiments. She was tired of her emotions being a cauldron of confusion.

 

“Yes Elenwë,” Findekáno replied, sensing her disengagement, his hands tentatively feeling her body. “He is in heart and body completely yours,” Findekáno continued. Elenwë sighed, her breath warming Findekáno’s exposed chest. Elenwë did not answer. Instead she closed her eyes and relished the moment, the warmth of Findekáno, his scent, the feel of his body as he held her. The two stayed that way for a few moments. Each storing away memories to treasure and hold across the expanse of time.

 

Hearing the increase of traffic outside his office, Findekáno whispered, “We should dress.

 

Without warning, the door to Findekáno’s office opened. Elenwë and Findekáno heard the telltale sign of the door crack, their heads turning to face the door to see who was entering at this most inopportune time, their hearts in their mouths.

 

Turukáno stood in the doorway, occupying the entirety of the space. His mouth hung open. His eyes were wide with disbelief. It took him a moment to register the scene in front of him: Elenwë and Findekáno jumping off the seat, scrambling to pull on and adjust their garments.

 

Turukáno did not know whether to enter, grab and throw Findekáno through the window or turn away and never lay eyes on the two again. Since he couldn’t run away, Turukáno opted for the former, a feral sound erupting from within him as he lunged at Findekáno. But Elenwë threw herself in front of him, forcing Turukáno to draw himself back. “Turno, please no!” Elenwë shrieked. The look of rage on Turukáno’s face was terrifying. Behind her she could hear Findekáno stand abruptly.

 

Turukáno was trembling, his anger boiling over. He spoke over Elenwë, struggling to maintain composure, “I came here looking for my brother and, and I find this?” Turukáno’s voice trailed off as angry tears began to fall. Findekáno was going to speak, but Turukáno menacingly raised his hand in his face, “There are no words you can speak, none!” Turukáno looked over Findekáno’s disheveled state. “And for Eru’s sake,” Turukáno hissed, “lace up your breaches.” Turukáno turned his face away in disgust.

 

Elenwë tentatively placed her hand on his arm, “Turno can we talk--“

 

“No!” Turukáno shot back, ripping her arm off of him. “I do not want to see you.” Turning to face her, he continued, “You will leave us now. I have something to settle with my brother.” Elenwë made to protest but Turukáno backed away from her.  “Elenwë please leave,” Turukáno spoke, his voice shaking, his anger about to explode, “I do not want to hurt you, please leave _now!_ ”

 

Elenwë backed up into Findekáno. Gently taking a hold of her arm, Findekáno asked her to go. “Elenwë, please leave,” he urged, knowing that the situation posed a danger to her.  “Please,” Findekáno pleaded as she turned to face him, her eyes wide with fear.

 

“Just leave!” Turukáno ordered, his hand shielding his sight from the two. He could not stomach watching the two interact.

 

“I am leaving, but do not do anything you may come to regret,” Elenwë whispered as she exited. Turukáno did not watch her as she circled him, her eyes imploring him to look upon him, Turukáno instead focusing his fury on his brother. He alone would bear the full brunt of it.

 

As soon as Elenwë exited the room, she ran in search of someone, anyone who might put a stop to the volatile situation. Dear Eru, she prayed, please keep them safe, she muttered to herself. Truly what she meant was, do not let Turukáno kill Findekáno. Elenwë feared that if Turukáno attacked, Findekáno would let him, would forfeit his life. She had to find someone!

 

Back in the room, Turukáno and Findekáno stood facing one another. Turukáno’s hands were balled up in fists, trying to keep himself from losing all control. Finally, Findekáno broke the silence between them: “Turno, I have no words to say, no words--

 

“No words, indeed!” Turukáno spoke through gritted teeth. “I do not want to hear what apologies, what excuses you will try to lay at my feet.”

 

Findekáno’s head dropped, adding quietly, “There is no apology or excuse that I could offer you.”

 

But Turukáno was coming apart at the seams. “Fuck you!” Turukáno raged, “No apology, no excuse? Of course not. You _betrayed_ me. My own fucking brother betrayed me!” Turukáno seethed, stepping towards Findekáno, grabbing him by his tunic. “Look at me!” he demanded, his anger boiling over.

 

Findekáno lifted his eyes to look at his brother, whispering, “I am sorry…”

 

“Sorry?” Turukáno uttered in disbelief. “Do you expect me to forgive you?” Turukáno threw Findekáno back, causing a loud crash, as Findekáno hit the wall, knocking down a painting. Findekáno gingerly straightened himself up. “I deserve this and more,” Findekáno whispered, turning his face away from his brother.

 

This enraged Turukáno further. He did not want to strike a flaccid Findekáno. He wanted Findekáno to be angry so he could unleash his anger and fury upon him. Looking to provoke Findekáno, Turukáno snarled, “I did not think you had it in you to fuck a woman, _brother_.” Turukáno spoke this last word with contempt. “I thought you reserved your backside for that degenerate of our cousin.”

 

Findekáno looked up at Turukáno knowing he was trying to prod him, but what Turukáno uttered aloud was something that had long simmered between the two. Findekáno’s jaw twitched, but still he said nothing. Turukáno approached his brother. Grabbing him by the hair, Turukáno flipped Findekáno against the wall. Pushing up hard against Findekáno’s back side, Turukáno pulled his brother’s head back towards him. “It wasn’t enough to take what is mine Findekáno, maybe I should take something from you,” he sneered. “Is this how he takes you?” Turukáno mocked Findekáno.

 

Findekáno pushed back against his brother, “You are angry but this is uncalled for,” Findekáno shot back, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

 

Turukáno slammed Findekáno back against the wall, pressing the side of his face into it. “You have belittled me brother, do I not deserve to do the same to you?” Turukáno retorted, his hot breath warming Findekáno’s cheek. Whatever semblance of control Turukáno had was now completely gone. He was driven into a blind rage, crossed the border to the other side of himself: the other side that Turukáno worked so hard to make dull. “Should I fuck you like you fucked Elenwë?” Turukáno growled. “I know you defiled her with you sick ways,” Turukáno continued, speaking cruel words he knew would incite his brother.

 

Findekáno was slowly losing his own self-control. Though he knew Turukáno was speaking from a place of deep hurt, his words stung nonetheless. “Enough!” Findekáno huffed, spinning out of his brother’s arms and away from the wall. “Hit me if you must, but _do not_ \--“

 

Turukáno flung himself at Findekáno, causing them to crash on and break a desk that sat on one end of the room. Pinning his brother down, Turukáno continued with his assault of his brother. “You think that if you allow me to beat you to a pulp--to kill you--is justifiable, but I want to humiliate you brother, so you can know how you have humiliated me,” Turukáno threatened, pinning his brother against the broken desk.

 

A piece of splintered wood was digging into Findekáno’s back. Findekáno gritted his teeth against the pain. It made it hard to push his brother away from him for whatever force he made to push Turukáno drove the wood into this back. Blinded with rage, Turukáno pressed on grabbing Findekáno’s legs, trying to force his legs up. “Is this how he manipulates you to fuck you brother?” Turukáno spat out, launching the most hateful things he could at Findekáno.

 

Findekáno broke. Turukáno had gone too far. Of course he deserved his anger, but this, this Findekáno could not allow. Not caring that a piece of wood had pierced his back, Findekáno threw Turukáno back in one swift move. Turukáno crashed into the open door, sending it flying off its hinges. Turukáno looked up at Findekáno, a feral smile spreading across his face. This is what he wanted. Findekáno stood at his brother’s feet, his chest heaving in anger. Turukáno launched himself once more at his brother. This time neither fell, grappling with one another, but the size of the room caused them to stumble and fall through the open door and out into the large hallway.

 

Their fighting had already attracted attention, sending elves scurrying back and forth, attempting to deescalate the situation, but Turukáno and Findekáno had not heard any of it. The gathered crowd sent out shouts of alarm, some trying to call out to their lords to stop the madness! Others quickly sent out runners to spread the news that Nolofinwë’s sons brutalizing one another. This would indeed cause certain sectors of Noldorin society much cheer.

 

)()()()(

 

Elenwë ran behind Maitimo and Nolofinwë. The three could hear the shouts of other elves, but more worrying they could hear what sounded like a mighty battle between Findekáno and Turukáno. But to see them tearing each other apart was horrific. Blood was smattered on the floor and on their clothes. Their faces were bloodied from where they had been pounding on one another with fists. Elenwë fell back, uttering a cry of disbelief. Nolofinwë shouted to his sons, but they did not hear him. Maitimo too tried to call out to Findekáno but the brothers were too caught up in one another, breaking each other apart.

 

Nolofinwë grabbed Maitimo’s shoulder, willing Maitimo to look at him. Maitimo understood Nolofinwë’s command, nodding his head in understanding. Nolofinwë jumped into the fray and tore his sons apart. Quickly Maitimo grabbed Findekáno, hugging him, but Findekáno was blinded with rage and he lunged at Turukáno once more, but Maitimo was stronger, picking Findekáno up and pinning him against a wall until he calmed.

 

“Let me go!” Findekáno growled, but Maitimo’s grip only grew stronger. “I will not,” Maitimo breathed in Findekáno’s ear. “Think of what you are bringing upon yourself, upon all of us with this,” Maitimo whispered. Maitimo added, more urgently, “And we must tend to your wound, Findekáno.” Findekáno ignored Maitimo, his eyes narrowed, watching his brother.

 

On the other side of the hall Nolofinwë held onto Turukáno who was savagely trying to throw his father off, but for no reason was Nolofinwë said to be the _strongest, the most steadfast, and the most valiant_ of Finwë’s sons.* Though Turukáno was taller, Nolofinwë managed to grapple Turukáno to the floor, pinning him there, laying his body on top of his son’s to hold him in place. Nolofinwë whispered, trying to break through his son’s rage, a rage Nolofinwë recognized. “Listen to me,” Nolofinwë desperately implored, “I know what drives you. Not here, not now.” Turukáno turned his eyes towards his father, “Not here father? Then when? Tell me I do not deserve to throttle my brother.” Turukáno’s eyes reflected a ferocious and fiery anger, but Nolofinwë would not let up. “You do,” Nolofinwë answered, “but not here, Turno, not here.” Nolofinwë spoke through gritted teeth resisting Turukáno’s efforts to topple him.

 

The increasingly larger group of elves gathered whispered amongst one another, each sharing what sordid details they heard, the tales being repeated, growing wilder and out of proportion. Elenwë heard the growing discord in the voices of the gathered elves. If indeed Maitimo and Findekáno became public knowledge, this would mean the two would meet with an official punishment, possibly banishment. This she could not allow. Better for the world to think her a harlot, and shake their heads at one brother’s betrayal of another. This, the Noldor could register within their own narrow understanding of the world. So Elenwë acted, bringing the focus back to her. “Turukáno,” she whispered kneeling next to him, “please let me speak with you.” 

 

The sound of Elenwë’s voice enraged Turukáno giving him a momentary upper hand against his father. Throwing Nolofinwë off, Turukáno turned to face Elenwë, his chest heaving and rising with each breath. “Do not speak to me! Do not look at me!” he spat at Elenwë. Turukáno then turned to face his brother, callously adding, “Go to him, he who calls himself my brother. Go to him and fuck him.”

 

The crowd gasped at Turukáno’s accusation. Elenwë recognized that she could reel them in. “Forgive me Turukáno. I did not want to hurt you,” she implored.

 

Elenwë supplicating before Turukáno and in front of the audience was more than Findekáno could stomach. Breaking out of Maitimo’s grip, Findekáno lunged towards Turukáno. “Do not speak to her this way!” Findekáno demanded coming to stand before his brother, only pausing because Elenwë placed herself between them. Quickly, Nolofinwë and Maitimo each wrapped their arms around Turukáno and Findekáno’s shoulders trying to hold them from advancing on one another.

 

Turukáno threw himself at Findekáno but was held back by Nolofinwë, eliciting a scream of fear from Elenwë. “You dare think you can demand anything of me?” Turukáno shouted at Findekáno, blind to the commotion around him. Turning to Elenwë, Turukáno spoke, his words falling like weapons “and just how long have you been fucking my brother?”

 

Findekáno made to attack his brother but Maitimo was secure in his hold, now being aided by Tyelkormo who had rushed onto the scene. “Do not speak to Elenwë in this way!” Findekáno growled earning a sarcastic snort from Turukáno.

 

Tyelkormo shared a look with Maitimo. Indeed, though Fëanáro’s sons fought, it was nowhere near this savage. Fëanáro and Findaráto were also helping Nolofinwë hold Turukáno back. Fëanáro too looked upon his nephews, recognized the Nolofinwion ferocity on display. As his brother spoke to his son, Fëanáro scanned the gathered crowd, his eyes glinting with menace. If any good came out of this it would be fear, fear of Finwë’s ilk.

 

Nolofinwë spoke in hushed tones, “Turno, think, use your mind. Let us settle this elsewhere.” Turukáno turned to face his father, his eyes still wild. “No father! I will not be cowed by you, by none of you,” Turukáno retorted, turning to face his cousin Findaráto. Seeing the accusation in Turukáno’s eyes, Findaráto released Turukáno’s arm, stepped back and dropped his head. Findaráto could not say much in the matter having been guilty of such a crime. Turukáno redirected his ire at his brother, repeating his question: “How long were you fucking Elenwë?”

 

Findekáno grew still, his voice quiet, “It started when you were at Alqualondë.” Why he admitted this there in front of the crowd, Findekáno could not be sure why. Maybe it was the rapid drop in adrenaline that left him weak and amplified his emotions, his guilt. This drew murmurs from the crowd, but it hit Turukáno like a spear. He was hoping that theirs, Findekáno’s and Elenwë’s affair, was a more recent event. Perhaps a small part of him hoped that Elenwë sought to get even with Turukáno after their confrontation at the opera. This would make this indiscretion more bearable. “Since Alqualondë?” Turukáno croaked, tears threatening to spill. Turukáno fell back into his father and uncle’s arms. “My brother and my beloved have taken me for a fool.” Turukáno felt suddenly weak, the adrenaline that coursed through his body now spent.

 

Nolofinwë, recognizing his opening, whispered to Turukáno while locking eyes with Maitimo, “Let us go.” Gingerly pushing Turukáno in the direction of Finwë’s private wing, Nolofinwë tested Turukáno’s obedience. Fëanáro shared a piercing look with the crowd that spoke volumes, placing himself behind Nolofinwë and Turukáno. Turukáno obediently allowed himself to be led. It seemed he would make no move against Findekáno. Maitimo, understanding Nolofinwë’s desire, likewise led a now despondent Findekáno to trail well behind Turukáno, with Tyelkormo holding onto Findekáno’s other side. They could take no chances. Findaráto took Elenwë’s hand and placed his other hand over her shoulder. She was shaking. What she had done was brave. He understood the reason for it. Sharing a sad smile with her, he urged her on behind the group.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * From The History of Middle-earth vol. 12: The Peoples of Middle-earth (XI The Shibboleth of Fëanor)


	10. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So wow, I am finally getting back to this. I have had this chapter written for some time. It went darker than I anticipated but I guess it could go nowhere else. I am happy with it and this story. Happy to mess with these characters in ways that turn them a bit on their heads, making them more human. Having them be both unlikeable and likeable because that’s more interesting to me, at least.

**Chapter 10: Revelations**

 

They were now sequestered in the private quarters of the King. Turukáno and Findekáno had fallen into a silence that seemed more oppressive than the blows they had rained upon one another. Finwë stood quietly while Nolofinwë described to him what had occurred. Fëanáro stood next to his brother. Gone was any indication there was discord between the brothers. If Fëanáro was planning on using this latest drama against Nolofinwë it was not apparent in this moment.  Arafinwë was not yet present, but was most certainly on his way to the Palace. Indeed, the Palace was abuzz with activity. Elves were quickly traversing the grounds, the news spreading quickly across Tirion.  

 

Turukáno and Findekáno were eventually convinced to move to different rooms. With Turukáno were Lalwen and Nolofinwë. In the other room with Findekáno were Anairë, Fëanáro, and Maitimo.

 

Others had gathered in the King’s receiving room, including Artanis, Findaráto, Tyelkormo, and Irissë. In the room was also Cemendur who had rushed in and immediately began interrogating Elenwë. At first no one dared interfere for he was in his rights as Elenwë’s guardian to demand answers from his niece, but Cemendur’s words to Elenwë crossed a line.

 

“Cemendur, that will be enough,” Indis commanded standing up.

 

Cemendur retorted, “My Lady, what am I to do now that Elenwë has tarnished our family’s name so irrevocably?”

 

Indis walked to stand before Cemendur. “The Noldor have survived worse scandals,” she reminded the Vanya, though she also felt personally responsible for tying Elenwë to Findekáno in ways she did not anticipate.

 

“Perhaps this is so,” Cemendur cried out, “but I will return to Valimar in disgrace!”

 

Findaráto’s eyes grew wide, the implications of Cemendur’s words materializing. “What of mine and Amarië’s engagement?”

 

Cemendur swiftly turned to look at Findaráto, “You can forget about your betrothal. I will not tie my daughter to such a family.” Both Cemendur and Findaráto turned in surprise as laughter resounded behind them.

 

Indis tried her best to stifle her voice. “You will forgive me for my inappropriate response,” she spoke, “I just find Cemendur’s words…rubbish.”

 

Cemendur’s face grew red, “My Lady!!”

 

Indis raised her hand in front of Cemendur’s face, prompting him to close his mouth and keep his words to himself. “You will hear me Cemendur and those in this room shall too. None of what I say here will travel beyond these walls lest they desire to incur the wrath of my husband and brother.” Indis scanned the room, here eyes settling momentarily on each occupant. Returning her attention to Cemendur she continued, “You allowed my grandson Findaráto to court your daughter. You allowed for them to become engaged, even though you possessed the knowledge of Findaráto’s indiscretion, which is not much unlike that between Findekáno and Turukáno. I never once heard any doubts on your behalf then. And this concerned your own daughter. I find it odd and somewhat amusing that your niece’s escapades should now cause you grief.”

 

Cemendur grew pale, he stumbled over his own words, trying to piece together his thoughts. He finally managed to answer Indis, “My lady, perhaps this is so, but this scandal is more public than the one you speak of.”

 

“That it is,” Indis agreed. “I am sure you understand that after this has settled,” Indis nodded her head in the direction of Elenwë, “that little of this scandal will affect Arafinwë’s House. Unless you plan on making public Findaráto’s own scandal.” Indis tapped a sapphire that hung at her neck with her fingernail.

 

Cemendur was unnerved by the tapping sound. Looking away from Indis, Cemendur settled his attention on Findaráto and Elenwë who stood next to one another. “Very well. I will not call off my daughter’s engagement with Findaráto, but I will send Elenwë back to her father.”

 

Cemendur’s words were both a relief and a burden for Findaráto. He was relieved he would not have to break his engagement with Amarië, but understood that Elenwë being sent back to Valimar would most certainly mean an end to her studies and a quick betrothal to a suitor who owed favors to Ingwë’s family.

 

“You will do no such thing Cemendur,” Indis spoke her voice like ice, potent and cold. “The Noldóran will decide Elenwë’s fate,” Indis shared, sparing a look in Elenwë’s direction. “If need be,  Elenwë will marry one of Nolofinwë’s sons. Goodness knows that the Noldor are easily assuaged by marrying off daughters to save their honour.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Cemendur stuttered, not daring to look directly at Indis. “But I will have to speak with her parents of course,” Cemendur added.

 

“Of course you will and I shall be there with you to do it.” Indis spared a look at Elenwë, “It is the least our family can do, the least I can do.”

 

Indis’ words served to strengthen Elenwë. Findaráto squeezed Elenwë’s hands. She in turn stood tall. Though tears fell, she kept her head raised and would not look away when those around her looked upon her in pity. She did not want their pity nor did she want to be married off. She would fight that battle on her terms, choosing to keep quiet and take inventory of what awaited her.

 

)()()()(

 

After hours of letting the brothers sit with their anger, the betrayal, and tend to their injures, Turukáno and Findekáno were summoned into Finwë’s private study. Each came in through a different door. This time Arafinwë and Ambaráto escorted Turukáno and Nolofinwë and Maitimo escorted Findekáno. Indis followed the group, leaving the other group to think upon her words.

 

Turukáno was the first to break the silence. “Let this be quick grandfather. I do not wish to be long in the presence of my bro…of Findekáno,” Turukáno spoke, unwilling to refer to Findekáno as his brother. Findekáno kept his eyes fixed on his grandfather, unwilling to look upon anyone else.

 

Finwë spoke, his voice gentle, his body betraying no tension. “I am unwilling to allow you two to continue to fight, though Turukáno you have a right to your anger for Findekáno has deeply wronged you.” Finwë’s grey eyes looked intently at Findekáno who cast his eyes to the ground. “I have been here before,” Finwë declared, his eyes settling on Arafinwë. “I do not know why my sons and grandsons are so driven to drive me mad.” Finwë grew quiet, and after a moment he chuckled, taking everyone by surprise in the room.  Finwë remembered the tumult in Tirion, indeed all of Elvenhome when he desired to remarry; when Anairë broke her betrothal to be with Nolofinwë; and Fëanáro’s hasty and youthful marriage to Nerdanel. “Actually I do know why the lot of you are foolish and reckless. The blood of our people, who we were born to be is strong in all of you. These lands,” Finwë spoke, his arm sweeping across the room, “are an ill fit for so many lords and ladies who have desires that were cultivated in the expansiveness that was Endórë.” The room was silent. “But we must do our best to cultivate these passions that stir our hearts for the good of our people,” Finwë spoke, reminding those gathered of price paid for the Journey.

 

Finwë went to stand before Turukáno taking his chin his hand. “You have done what you needed to do and your anger towards your brother is justified. It is in your power to call off your ties of kinship with him, but think long and hard on this, for time may see you regret such a disloyalty.”

 

Turukáno could think of nothing else but disowning his brother. What other choice could there be? Turukáno could not imagine any length of time could remedy the hurt, the hate, he felt for his brother.

 

But Finwë had more to say to Turukáno: “Now you will take time to think about your own failings. Perhaps Elenwë’s trespass is greater than yours but did you not also fail?” Turukáno was taken aback, surely there was no comparison between his and his brothers affairs? His mouth opened to say so, but he smartly chose not to answer his grandfather. “And let us hope that some of your more colorful accusations against your brother do not make their way to some of these lords that wish us ill,” Finwë continued, his mind always turning towards larger matters of rule. Turukáno looked down, mimicking his brother, regretting some of the more hurtful words he had earlier hurled at his brother, but yet his heart burned for his brother’s betrayal.

 

Finwë moved to the other side of the room to stand before Findekáno. Likewise taking his grandson’s chin in his hand, Finwë spoke, “Findekáno, oh my Findekáno, so bold and reckless, such a fiery heart. You remind me of Fëanáro when he was but your age.” Finwë shared a look with his eldest son whose eyes grew large at the comparison. Findekáno himself was surprised by the comparison but said nothing. Nolofinwë simply gritted his teeth. He did not care for the comparison but was more shaken by the truth of it. Finwë continued, knowing no one would dare speak against him:  “Findekáno, you will make amends with your brother. You will ask for his forgiveness and you will earn it. But there are others who now need to speak and ask forgiveness as well.” Finwë dropped his hand from Findekáno and raised his hands towards Indis and Anairë.

 

Anairë was nervous. “My sons,” she spoke, pausing to look at each. “You must both forgive me for what I have precipitated.”

 

“Mother!” Turukáno retorted, “What is there to forgive?”

 

“Please let me finish,” Anairë continued. Behind her, Indis stood, her hand on Anairë’s shoulder. “Without my interference none of this would have happened.”

 

It was Findekáno’s turn to speak up. “Mother why do you say this?”

 

Indis spoke this time, looking at Findekáno, “Because your mother came to me and we asked for the Valar to intercede on your behalf my son.”

 

“I do not understand?” Findekáno replied. Turukáno was looking from Finwë to his father for answers but got none.

 

“It is true Findekáno,” Anairë continued, “I asked the Valar to put a maiden on your path for I wanted you to be free of the relationship with Maitimo that has caused you so much pain.”

 

“You did what?” Maitimo growled, understanding the full implications of Anairë’s admission.

 

Fëanáro looked between Findekáno and Maitimo, confused by what Anairë had spoken.

 

Nolofinwë was about to intercede but Anairë waved him away. “You have a right to be angry, all of you, for well I should have known that one can never expect that the Valar will hear one’s supplications as one wishes them.”

 

Indis interrupted Anairë. “My dear Findekáno we simply wished for the love of a maiden to gladden your heart, for you to be free of your ill advised relationship with Maitimo.”

 

Fëanáro let out a cry but before he could say more, Finwë grabbed his son by the arm and escorted him into another room. All could hear the argument between Fëanáro and Finwë. It was apparent that Fëanáro did not know about Maitimo and Findekáno’s relationship.

 

“Why would you do this?” Turukáno cried out, confused.

 

Maitimo spoke next. “Of course,” he breathed closing his eyes, concentrating on the scenes playing out in his mind. “Such a prayer can only be answered by the threads that are already there.”

 

Findekáno answered. “Mother, you put Elenwë on my path?”

 

Indis answered, “Yes…we did. It was not our intent, but we should have known better.”

 

Nolofinwë spoke, “But regardless of who pulled what strings Findekáno, you had a choice to stop, to act in a different way. Your will, like Elenwë’s, like Turukáno’s was not tied to such a fate.”

 

Maitimo grew angry. “Free will Nolofinwë? You know how damned strong such interventions made can be! It all makes sense now,” Maitimo spoke, the latter a statement more to himself that resonated with the group nevertheless. The sounds of his father speaking with Finwë were now muted. That had to be a good thing, Maitimo considered.   

 

Nolofinwë continued, “Be that so, we must now think about what next. I for one do not want Elenwë to bear the brunt of this. Neither of you,” Nolofinwë threatened, sharing a pointed look with each of his sons, “is blameless. There are those Houses that will see this as an opportunity to wreak havoc. I expect that each of you will remedy this in your own way.”

 

“But father!” Turukáno cried out, “you cannot expect me to forgive my brother!”

 

“No. I do not,” Nolofinwë turned around on his heels to face Turukáno, “but you will not allow this discord to bring ruin to our family.” Nolofinwë wished in this moment to take his son and comfort him but it was not who he could be, not in Aman.

 

Nolofinwë turned to look at Findekáno. “You will both present a united front at our next Council meeting for surely that is where these rumors that are now spreading like wildfire will play out. Once we deal with the attacks—because they will come—” Nolofinwë spoke, his voice like fire, “You may choose to never be in one another’s lives, though it will pain me, but look to those that you love and trust and seek their advice.” Nolofinwë’s eyes shone with anger and sadness.

 

Turukáno wanted to scream against his father, to curse his brother for eternity, but worst of all Turukáno felt a great enmity towards his mother and grandmother, one he could had never imagined.

 

Maitimo spoke first, interrupting Turukáno’s desperate thoughts, “Once the Council is held, I will take Findekáno with me to Formenos for a season or two, that is if father allows it.” Maitimo was confident that his father would agree. While Fëanáro was surprised, Maitimo well knew that his father knew deep down that there was something different between he and Findekáno. The group could not make out what passed between Fëanáro and Finwë, but at least Fëanáro was not raising his voice. 

 

“He will allow it,” Nolofinwë, assured Maitimo, “but now that his suspicions are confirmed he will also have much to recriminate you Maitimo.”

 

Maitimo answered, “This I know.”

 

Findaráto spoke next. “Turukáno you should come with my brothers and I to Alqualondë. It would do you good to get away and perhaps, when you are ready, hear our tale for I do not think we have ever spoken in great deal over it.”

 

Turukáno did not reply merely closing his eyes. There was too much buzzing in his head, too many wanting desperately to forgive Findekáno’s betrayal.  Turukáno was going to yell at them all, tell them he had a right to his anger and that no one could dictate what he should do. Except that Anairë spoke up: “I do not ask for forgiveness, but I do want to ask that you all allow me to redress my wrongs with Elenwë and make things right for her.”

 

Turukáno grimaced at the mention of Elenwë’s name, but Findekáno spoke up, daring incur his brother’s wrath once more. “Please do, mother and seek Almáriel for she is also a victim of us.”  Turukáno’s head shot up, his muscles tensing. How dare Findekáno compare his indiscretion with Almáriel to Findekáno’s betrayal.

 

Findekáno spoke his first words directly to Turukáno. “I am not seeking to indict you Turukáno, only that we look after all those that have been caught up in the mistakes we have made.”

 

Turukáno grit his teeth, his jaw tensing. Findekáno was right, he would not begrudge healing for Almáriel, but he would not allow Findekáno to have the higher ground, but before he could speak, he was interrupted once again.

 

Indis spoke next. “I will be joining you in Alqualondë, Turukáno and I will not be convinced otherwise. My mistakes are grave, but this in no way means I cannot and will not council you and love you.”

 

Turukáno did not answer his grandmother. Though he wanted to shout at them all, he wished not to curse his grandmother for all he felt at the moment was a deep humiliation and anger. It made him sick to his stomach to harbor these feelings towards those he loved. Turukáno understood there was no gainsaying his grandmother. She was stubborn. Yet there was also a small part of him that welcomed her presence. She would both bear his anger and help him heal, of this he was sure. Ever since he was little, Indis had a way with Turukáno, perhaps because he was so much like Arafinwë. Indis had always had special insights to Turukáno’s character. Yes, she would be good for him to have around even though she was partly responsible for the mess they were in. Suddenly, overcome by a vision, Turukáno saw Findekáno’s heart, felt its strange darkness, a potent sadness and loneliness that he had never known his brother to have. The feeling alongside his own anger was so overwhelming, that Turukáno’s knees went weak, causing him to sit down and release the contents of his stomach.

 

Nolofinwë rushed over to him. “Are you well son, what is it?”

 

Turukáno looked up at Findekáno, locking eyes with his brother. Catching his breath, Turukáno was able to step out of the vortex of his brother’s emotions. Finally, able to speak, Turukáno simply answered, “I am utterly hurt and angry beyond what an elf should have right to.” He knew he should feel regret for the hurtful words he had thrown at Findekáno, but he was so hurt that he had wanted to wound his brother. But he did not know whether he could ever forgive Findekáno. Turukáno looked to his father. “Take me from here.”

 

Nolofinwë inclined his head, placing a hand at his son’s back. “Let us go,” but before Nolofinwë left the room with Turukáno he looked to Maitimo who shook his head with understanding. Of course, there would be nowhere else Findekáno should be but with him. Their hearts were both twisted and confused, broken sons of the Noldor, lesser than what their fathers wanted them to be, heirs to a broken people though none would dare speak such truths.

 

Findekáno closed his eyes, holding back tears. How could he be so despondent and lonely that he had cared so little for his brother, even if there were powers larger than him compelling him into Elenwë’s arms. He would never forgive himself for this. Feeling Maitimo behind him, Findekáno allowed himself to be taken, secreted through back passages and alleys and away, away for a good while.

 

)()()()()(

 

That night Findekáno and Maitimo would reveal many of the dark things that hid in their heart, speak of their love, and their disgust, speak of the anger and resentment each had towards the other, towards their fathers. Maitimo would allow Findekáno to berate himself, to hate himself. They would find some sort of absolution if it could be called such a thing. Theirs would be a desperate and carnal fire that would be shared, fucking one another because in those moments it was the easiest thing to do. And it felt good and it was selfish, and it was what little they could do to cling to some sort of sense of who they had been:  Findekáno and Maitimo.

 

The world would soon come apart in ways that would make Findekáno’s indiscretion a mere pebble in the vast tidal wave that was coming their way and sweep them into a future unimagined and the loss of Elenwë that would hurt them the more because she proved to be their equal…no. Their better.

 

 


End file.
